


In The Forest Of Dean

by T3Tohru



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Battle of Hogwarts, Blood and Injury, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canon Related, Character Death, Coming Out, Dark, Dark Magic, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, First Time, Hermione Granger-centric, Horcrux Hunting, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Interrogation, LGBTQ Character, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Beta Read, Not Epilogue Compliant, Oral Sex, POV Multiple, Serious, Serious Injuries, Some Humor, Strong Harry Potter, Strong Hermione Granger, Violence, Wandless Magic, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2020-07-08 07:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 59
Words: 511,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19865440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/T3Tohru/pseuds/T3Tohru
Summary: A complete re-write of Book Seven:(mostly Hermione-centric, features other character POVs, and Harmony is the main pairing though this fic is about more than just their relationship it is a story about the war)‘So why are you still here?’ Harry asked Ron.‘Search me,’ said Ron.‘Go home then,’ said Harry.‘Yeah, maybe I will!’ shouted Ron, and he took several steps towards Harry, who did not back away...What could have happened between Harry and Hermione in the Deathly Hallows after Ron leaves. This story mostly follows canon but provides a different look at how the relationships in HP could have formed had Hermione realized that she and Ron did not fit well together and that Harry, her best friend, was really what she was looking for the whole time. Includes added subplots and a more realistic view on the war.[Updates on Sundays +/- a few days. Things are crazy right now but I’m still trying for weekly]**NOTE: this fic contains mature content, explicit language and is dark in nature. PLEASE READ THE TAGS**





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> ** All author’s notes and warnings have been updated to better reflect the story and my thoughts (26June2020)**
> 
> After many, many years of avidly reading fan fictions and many years since the first time that I attempted to write one (under my old deleted fanfiction.net account) - I once again have an insatiable craving to try my hand at writing.
> 
> Forewarning: I am not a writer (though I aspire to be one). My vocabulary and grammar skills are limited, I am still learning and doing my very best to improve every day – so please be patient with me if you notice any mistakes. Please also note that this fic is NOT beta read. I write each update over the course of 1-2 days. This includes writing it, editing it, and posting it – so inevitably I will miss some mistakes. When I have time, I do go back and try to make corrections, but again, I am bound to miss some.
> 
> I am writing this story largely for my own enjoyment, for practice, as a hobby and as an outlet :) I know that it might not be for everyone, but I hope that you give it a chance and *hopefully* you will enjoy it :)
> 
> Feedback/comments are always appreciated as I will use them to fuel this burning fire I seem to have contracted to write and improve my skills *intensefistraise* I only ask that you please be constructive with your criticisms and kind with your words – after all, this is just *one* story and I am writing it for fun. There are an infinite number of ways to tell a story and if you do not like this one, I encourage you to write your own :D writing is a great outlet and a wonderful place to be creative and I hope to inspire people to write more (either because you like this fic… or you hate it. Either way, writing is great and I encourage everyone to try it!)
> 
> I hope that you will join me on this ride, from what I originally started as a ‘short’ story to what has now grown into quite the full-scale tale!  
> With Love,  
> Tori <3
> 
> Few other ramblings:  
> *First: my love of the Harry Potter universe is eternal and undying. JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this world. I own nothing but the inserted original characters/plot concepts. I make no money on this. This is simply a FAN based work.
> 
> *Second: while reading the books I couldn't help but wonder what might have occurred between Hermione and Harry while in the Forest of Dean after Ron left... This pretty much picks up from page 253 of the DH if you want to follow along.
> 
> *Third: this story is a self-indulgent piece that essentially covers the possibility of a Harry/Hermione relationship forming while camping in the woods. It includes a different spin on the Ginny/Harry relationship. It broadly sticks to canon, though I have added characters and embellished/modified the plot. It is intended to capture what could have happened in Book 7 had the war and the horcrux hunt been taken seriously. I intend to make Voldemort worthy of his fearful name – he will be darker, twisted and much more dangerous than he was in canon. This fic does not include Ron bashing and instead I try to realistically look at the impact his leaving might have actually had on the ending.
> 
> Ultimately, this story is intended to paint a more realistic depiction of war, the trauma involved, the consequences of actions, and the complexity of morality while I try to show how the war would have affected the wizarding world as a whole – while fostering the Harmony relationship.

**WARNINGS**

Please read the tags. 

**This fic involves dark themes, mature content and _explicit_ language**. Please read the tags, the tags are there for a reason - if you are uncomfortable with swearing, sad topics or violence this fic may not be for you. Obviously I would love for everyone to give this fic a shot, I don't mean to deter anyone from reading or make this story seem more intense/dark than it is - I just want to be open and honest about the content included in this story so that there are no surprises later. I understand that everyone has different tolerances, so many of you may think this warning is unnecessary/over-exaggerated but again, everyone is different and I do not want to accidentally trigger anyone without sufficient warning as I feel like that is my responsibility as the author.

I do my best to add individual warnings at the start of each chapter for more difficult topics/moments but in general this fic is not a light read and includes the following:

explicit language, violence, dark themes, sad themes, PTSD like symptoms, blood and gore, bad situations, explicit smut (but not PWP and chapters with smut will be flagged so you know to watch for it and can skip over it if you prefer), mercy killings, potential character deaths, difficult/controversial topics, torture, interrogation and war. Please read the tags and please read individual chapter warnings.

*************************************************************************

_‘So why are you still here?’ Harry asked Ron._

_‘Search me,’ said Ron._

_‘Go home then,’ said Harry._

_‘Yeah, maybe I will!’ shouted Ron, and he took several steps towards Harry, who did not back away._

Hermione tensed as the scene started to unfold in front of her. What was happening? For being “the brightest witch of her age” it was as if her brain suddenly short-circuited and stopped functioning. After everything they had been through, the fights they had endured previously – Ron and Harry’s pissing fit in fourth year for fuck's sake – she could feel the tension. Visibly see the flames enlarging towards an inevitable explosion. The pressure building was familiar, like their fights before – but she knew, this time it was different.

They were arguing about whether or not Harry cared about Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys – or that Ron was upset that the mission thus far had been long? Exhausting? Difficult? Utterly defeating? It was ludicrous. They were arguing about everything and nothing at the same time – but none of it was tangible.

Hermione tried to step in to calm things down, to bring Ron to the rational conclusion that Harry didn’t mean what Ron seemed to think he did - but Ron seemed determined to mimic the ever-growing storm outside as his face grew redder with rage. Ron exploded again - lashing out at her too this time, her and the fact that her “ _parents were safely out of the way_ ”. As if the fact that she had obliviated her parents that past summer made things easier on her or made the ongoing situation less intense - that it somehow excused her from feeling the same worry and anguish that he was clearly feeling, because she now had less to lose in the war. Her chest tightened, and her jaw clenched as she felt the prickle of tears at the corner of her eyes. She didn’t know how to respond. But it didn’t matter because Harry bellowed back raising the octave of the tent another level only for Ron to immediately screamed in retort.

_‘Then GO!’ roared Harry. ‘Go back to them, pretend you’ve got your spattergroit and Mummy’ll be able to feed you up and – ‘_

_Ron made a sudden movement: Harry reacted, but before either wand was clear of its owner’s pocket, Hermione had raised her own._

_‘Protego!’ she cried, and an invisible shield expanded between her and Harry on the one side and Ron on the other, all of them were forced backwards a few steps by the strength of the spell and Harry and Ron glared from either side of the transparent barrier as though they were seeing each other clearly for the first time._

It was suddenly quiet, despite the noisy raindrops which hit the tent heavily. It felt as though the tent had frozen, time stood still. Hermione could taste the acid in the air, see the hatred in Ron’s eyes and the raging anger in Harry’s. The familiar building tension had finally snapped – but it snapped in an unfamiliar way as Hermione had dreaded. Lingering under the raw and turbulent emotions was something new, something different – something broken. Like a thousand shards of glass on the floor, this felt irreparable. She heard Harry speak, but this time his voice was calm, cold, and flat.

_‘Leave the Horcrux,’ Harry said._

_Ron wrenched the chain from over his head and cast the locket into a nearby chair. He turned to Hermione._

Hermione’s eyes opened a fraction wider and it was at that moment she realized that silent tears had been streaming down her cheeks. She was crying. Crying because subconsciously she knew what they had just lost even if her mind was still racing and trying to figure out what to say - how to repair the situation. Crying because she knew what Ron was about to ask her and she already knew her response. Ron spoke.

_‘What are you doing?’_

Staring at him still wide-eyed, the tears still rolling, the words slipped through her lips quietly. She didn’t want to do this.

_‘What do you mean?’_

Ron’s face twisted in frustration, he knew that Hermione _knew_ what he meant. Angrily he clarified for her, a hint of desperation in his eyes.

_‘Are you staying, or what?’_

_‘I…’_

Hermione looked anguished. A loud roll of thunder outside of the tent sent a shiver down her spine. It felt like she was burning from the inside out, her stomach twisting, the feeling of sick at the back of her throat. She took a breath, blinking her eyes once before she responded in the calmest voice she could manage.

_‘Yes – yes, I’m staying. Ron, we said we’d go with Harry, we said we’d help – ‘_

Ron didn’t wait though. He didn’t wait for her to explain her reasons, for her to remind him that the two of them, _together_ , had promised to follow Harry and support him on his mission to hunt and destroy Horcruxes. The mission that Albus Dumbledore had assigned them. All of them. The mission that literally the entire wizarding world was depending on them completing – even though no one knew about it. He never listened. He never thought.

Why did she ever believe that this would be different?

_‘I get it. You choose him.’_

His face was ugly. Angry. Filled with a betrayal that was unjustified and selfish. She saw the turn of his shoulders as he started to pull away, as he started toward the door of the tent. She tensed and raised a hand as if to grab and stop him. **_They had to fix this!_** A wave of nausea and desperation flew over her - but she was impeded by her own Shield Charm. Waving her wand to remove it she hurried after him through the tent door and into the rain storm leaving Harry standing motionless inside. She screamed his name, calling him to come back.

_‘Ron, no – please – come back, come back!’_

Running farther from the tent she caught the faintest sound of an apparation _*pop*_ and her hand, which had still been slightly outstretched, fell to her side. She stopped. Her knees quivered as her lip trembled and the rain soaked through her hair. This _was_ different.

Turning solemnly on her heel she walked slowly back to the tent, her eyes clouded and stuck to the ground. Stepping in under the flap she saw that Harry had not moved an inch. He stared at her, his expression a strange mix that she did not have the capacity to process. Every bone in her body felt like lead. Her hair was plastered to her face, the wind howled and pulled aggressively outside as she stared back at Harry.

_‘He’s g-g-gone! Disapparated!’_

She felt like she was screaming her words but she knew her voice was soft. Weak. Worn. Her face scrunched as the dam holding her emotions back broke and heaving sobs wracked through her chest. She crumbled into the armchair in the corner of the tent as she let what felt like decades of stress, anguish, pain and loss flow through her – not caring when she felt Harry hesitate near her and then the presence of a soft blanket being placed gently on her shoulders. She heard him leave. She knew he was headed to his own bunk. She knew that she should get herself together, get organized, adjust their plan, figure out their next move – do anything other than sitting as the pathetic curled up ball that she currently was. But she didn’t care. Right now, it felt like a piece of her had died.

-x-x-

Hermione woke painfully the next morning. Her hair had dried terribly, caked on her face with a few small leaves that had gotten tangled up in the storm. Her chest hurt like she’d ran a mile, her eyes were undoubtedly pink and swollen and her body screamed at her for having sat curled up in a chair all night. Dried tear tracks and snot covered her face, arms and the blanket that Harry had placed on her the night before.

Normally she would be embarrassed by her current state. Not because she cared about appearances – no, Hermione Granger did not care about that - but because she, Hermione Granger, **always** kept a cool head. She **never** broke down like she did last night. She **never** succumbed to the dread that secretly filled her heart. She **never** gave in or gave up – but last night she had, and it was one of her lowest moments.

Stiffly she shifted into a fully upright position and blinked around the room. It was quiet and the tent was lit with bright sunlight with the faint sound of birds chirping in the background. It gave no hint to the disturbance that had unfolded in this very space the evening before. She glanced toward Harry’s bunk and saw that his back was to her and his shoulders moved slowly with each deep breath he took – still asleep and almost peaceful looking to anyone who didn’t know him. Hermione knew him though, and the slight tension in his shoulders and the blanket twisted around his ankles gave way to the truth that he had slept terribly – probably as badly as she did.

Stifling a groan, she pulled herself from the chair, staying as quiet as possible and set the blanket back down. She did not want to wake Harry, he needed his rest more than he would ever let on – but in truth, she also did not have the heart or the courage she needed to face him just yet. Last night it had felt like a piece of her heart had died and she knew that Harry would be nursing his own wounds in his own way and that she needed to be there for him. But right now – she looked down at her dirty and still damp clothes feeling a bit disgusted with herself - she needed a shower. And tea. And just a minute or two alone. Frowning at the blanket before her, still covered in her dried snot and tears, she pulled her wand gently from her sweater pocket and muttered a quick cleaning charm. Then, quiet as a church mouse she crept toward Harry’s bunk.

Staring down at him she could see that his brow was furrowed and as she suspected the Horcrux locket was draped loosely over his neck and rested on the mattress next to his chest. Gently, she reached down and undid the clasp behind his neck and pulled the locket away from his chest. Almost instantly the crease in his brow lessened and he breathed deeper. With a small but sad smile on her face Hermione snuck to the tent bathroom, grabbed fresh clothes on the way, closed the door and placed the locket around her neck. Taking a deep breath, she stripped off her dirty clothes and turned on the water with her wand, adding a heating spell until steam started to rise. The shower in the tent was actually very cleverly designed, the nozzle at the top was enchanted so that tapping it with your wand activated an aqua eructo charm until the nozzle was tapped again to turn off. The bathroom was fairly small so it did not take long until steam filled the entire room, then she stepped into the small shower stall and closed the curtain behind her.

She showered longer than what she would ever typically allow herself. Usually her bathing, all of their bathing actually, was utilitarian – to the point and effective. Though, that was probably due to her influence of wanting them to be efficient, and the general desire they all had for not wanting to get caught by snatchers with one of them stark naked in the shower while they needed to escape and apparate quickly. Today though, she allowed herself time to scrub every inch of her body - which she knew was her attempt to scrub away the remorse, sadness and overall feelings from the night before.

The locket swung loosely on her chest as she bathed, it was a nuisance and she could have left it with Harry – but Hermione had always known that she handled the Horcruxes better than the two boys combined. Harry needed to rest and sleeping an entire night with the locket on would only make the day ahead of them more difficult than it was already going to be. Besides, she smirked grimly to herself, the locket was dirtied with dark magic – it could use a bath.

She cringed inwardly at that, then pondered if the reason why the locket did not impact her so strongly could be related to the meditation her parents had taught her as a child. The same meditation techniques that she had religiously continued to use since she was first taught them at 8 years old. She’d never mentioned it to anyone, not even to the boys, but as a child she used to struggle with anxiety related to her insatiable desire to be the best in everything. “Classic perfectionist” they’d said. Being “brilliant” had come with its tolls and wanting to always be the best in school had left her anxious as a child. So as a young kid her parents had taught her how to meditate, to breathe, to relax, to organize her thoughts and work through problems logically and calmly. Ironically, this skill had helped her in almost every single facet of her life thus far and very well might be the best skill she had – and yet not one person knew she had that skill. It was very likely the only reason why she, Harry and Ron were still alive now. If she ever saw her parents again, if they ever remembered her again, she would thank them.

With that thought, Hermione ran her fingers through her dark curly hair one last time and rested her palms and forehead against the cool wall of the shower stall. She allowed herself 2 minutes of deep calm breathing as the hot water pounded between her shoulder blades loosening her stiff muscles while the locket hung lightly from her neck – then she opened her eyes. Pulling back the curtain she stepped out of the shower stall, grabbed her wand from the sink counter and tapped the overhead nozzle to shut off the water. Using a quick drying spell she then grabbed her fresh clothes, but paused when she caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked tired. Freshly scrubbed with tinges of pink in her cheeks from the heat, hair still damp and hanging in curls around her shoulder – but the tired she saw seemed to be emanating from her bones.

Her face was skinnier, not gaunt, but thinner. The whole of her was. Being on the run was not luxurious – as Ron had clearly recently concluded – and she frowned at her reflection. If they were truly to fight and win this war, they needed to spend at least a little more time trying to eat well-balanced meals. She would need to look through their supplies today and their schedule to allow more time for food collection and management.

Pulling on her clothes, an old washed out pair of muggle jeans that showed wear marks at the knees and a long sleeve but thin and loose-fitting charcoal v-neck sweater, she sighed before brushing her teeth and then turned to her hair. It was the usual bushy mess that she had come to accept. She arched an eyebrow cautiously at it – as if trying not to spook or upset it and thus make it worse. She cast an additional drying spell to remove the lingering dampness, then she opted to pull it into a messy pony on the top of her head. It flopped lamely to the side – her hair was simply too heavy and thick to look cute in a high pony. So, she twisted it into a large knot and left it there piled atop her head.

Leaning back against the sink she slowly pulled on her socks. They were purple, knitted, oversized and warm – perfect since the weather was getting cooler by each passing day. Standing straight with determination, she grabbed her wand and turned to face the mirror once more.

_Well, this is as good as it is going to get today,_ she thought.

Leaving the small bathroom, she heard a gentle clinking noise in the kitchen area and turned to the left walking down the very small, and very short ‘hallway’ that lead back to the common area of the tent. She paused at the end, looking at Harry who had two chipped tea mugs sitting on the kitchen table with some small scones on a plate in the middle – _they were the last of the scones that they had_ , she cataloged mentally as a reminder that they would need to grab some more.

He had heard her approaching and looked up about a moment after she had stopped moving. The air felt tense with lingering unsaid words and unsure feelings. Her left hand fiddled nervously with the bottom hem of her shirt. She did not remember ever feeling awkward with Harry in the past, but she did not know what to say – neither of them did.

Harry, bless his heart though, spoke first and spoke softly.

“Hey,” he said, his hand nervously fidgeting with the spoon he’d likely been using to stir the tea. He was looking directly at her; his eyes were worn and unsure, she could see the stress he carried in his shoulders.

“Hey,” she said softly as her left hand fell from the hem of her shirt to clasp with her wand in front of her. She saw him relax a fraction, the worry in his eyes becoming slightly more hopeful. She could not imagine what he must be thinking.

“I made tea,” he said somewhat abruptly. But his voice was still gentle like she was a small injured animal that he was worried he might frighten away if he moved too quickly or spoke too loud. “It got cold though. S-so I just used a warming charm – to reheat it. It’s one milk and two sugars? I’m sorry – I hope it’s okay?”

The last part came out in a bit of a jumble and Hermione could see the hopeful yet slightly desperate look in his eyes. His genuine concern that his gone-cold-then-reheated-tea might not be ‘okay’ was adorable, and his attempt at ensuring _they_ were okay was clear. Harry was hopelessly helpful and caring – and he had remembered how she took her tea.

Hermione smiled, it was tired but genuine and her appreciation for his efforts shone through. It was ridiculous for them to feel this uneasy around each other.

“It’s perfect Harry, thank you” she said as she walked toward the table to take a seat opposite to the side he was standing on and set her wand down beside her.

He grinned in relief and slowly lowered himself down to the table – patiently waiting while she took a sip of her tea first before grabbing his own gently to hold it near his mouth. Holding hers in a similar fashion, both hands on the warm mug, elbows propped on the table and the mug hovering just below her chin she could see the way her studied her face – trying to figure out what to say.

“It’s okay Harry,” she said softly, removing one hand and reaching it out gently toward his. He dropped a hand from his mug and allowed her to grasp his fingers gently before she placed their intertwined hands between them in the center of the table. She gave a firm squeeze, his eyes still searching her face and desperate for something. “ _We -_ are okay” she said with surety.

Harry let out a breath he had been holding, his head dropped slightly, shoulders sagging, and he put his tea mug down to place his free hand over his face. He sat for a moment, head held in his hand, before he quickly propped himself back up with a deep breath running his hand through his wild black locks. He looked briefly up at the ceiling before his eyes fell back to her face – his eyes were slightly red now and she could almost feel the prickle of his tears that had formed in the corner of his eyes. She felt her own sting as she stared intently back at him, both of them trying to push their tears back down.

“Thank god,” he said weakly, with a look of sad relief flooding his face. “I’m so sorry Hermione.” His eyes were genuine, and he gripped her hand back.

“I know,” she said with earnest. She set her cup down as well and they instinctively grabbed each other’s hands – now sitting across from each one another tightly gripping each other as if they might lose each other if they let go. “I-I know. I am too. I am so, so sorry Harry.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he said weakly “you have nothing to be sorry for. You stayed.” He paused starring at her with an adoration she wasn’t sure she’d seen before. “Thank you, for staying.”

“Of course,” she replied. Her eyes flicking across his face. “Of course I would stay Harry. I said that I would. I told you I would be here until the end – always.”

Harry smiled at her again, some of the tension having now left his body he rolled his shoulders back to a more comfortable position.

“I know,” he said quietly “but still. I know it hasn’t been easy – and I’m sorry that I don’t seem to know what I’m doing half the time. It’s because I don’t. I wish I did! But I don’t. And I’m sorry for that” he rambled before pausing. He looked at her carefully, sincerely, and spoke the next words slowly and with meaning “I want you to know how much I need you here. How much I rely on you. And how grateful I am that you stayed. I know that last night wasn’t easy for you – but I’m so, so thankful that you stayed.”

Hermione stared at him, their hands had risen slightly between the two of them with Harry clutching them almost desperately at his chest. One single tear fell from the corner of her eye and she smiled with a great sadness, her heart feeling heavy, but feeling confident.

“You’re right,” she spoke softly. “It was hard. But doing the right thing often is – it’s not about making the easy choices or doing what we want to do. It’s about doing the right thing and doing what we need to do. Harry, I don’t regret staying. The decision was easy, so don’t you dare ever think anything different -”

Harry had opened his mouth slightly, perhaps to protest, perhaps to thank her again, perhaps to say she shouldn’t be so absolute in her stance – she didn’t know what he was going to say, but she didn’t care. She cut him off and continued. She wanted to get all of this out and on the table now because she didn’t want to keep skirting around on eggshells in a small tent while they had Horcruxes to find and destroy.

“The decision was easy,” she said more firmly fixing him with a stare. “Seeing Ron leave. That-that was hard. It was hard because it hurt. I’m sad Harry - I’m sad, I’m disappointed, I’m upset. I’m flabbergasted that he even thought to ask me to go with him! I expected more – I expected him to stay true to his word and to see this through. I expected him to be reliable and – and I expected him to, for once, see the bigger picture and understand that this – all of this! What we are doing here – is so much bigger than any of us as individuals. That we have to continue, that we have to do whatever we must to complete this mission.”

Hermione fixed Harry with a stern look of resolve before she continued. Harry himself was quiet now, sitting in a slight lean toward her and she could see a small glint of determination reforming in his eyes.

“I am upset about Ron, Harry,” she said to make herself perfectly clear before taking a breath and squeezing his hands once firmly. “But I will get over it. Hard times show us who we really are – they show you someone’s true character. I always knew Ron was a little bit unreliable and a bit lazy” she said with a small smile and Harry smiled gently too.

“I guess,” she paused “-I guess I just thought that when things got really bad, that when it really came down to it, that I would be able to count on him. I guess I just hoped – that he was a little different.”

Harry’s smile was grim when he spoke.

“I know,” his voice rough. “So did I.”

They sat in silence for a moment each starring at the hands still interlaced between them. Harry absently rubbing his right thumb over her knuckles in a soothing motion.

“He may still come back,” Harry said with a small smile and a tiny glint of optimism. She could feel his gaze land upon her, waiting for her to respond.

Hermione’s brow creased as she mulled this over, it was a possibility. Her eyes entranced by the small circles Harry’s thumb was still making over her knuckles.

“Maybe,” she said slowly and raised her eyes to look at Harry again. “Maybe. But – that won’t change how I feel.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her as if he was looking for her to confirm what she meant by this statement and in return she gave him her most direct stare.

“It won’t change how I feel now,” she stated firmly. “What happened here – if he comes back. Maybe – maybe I can forgive him. Maybe we can be friends. But – I can’t look past this. I-I won’t go back to how I felt before.”

Harry looked at her carefully, thought present in the sight furrow of his brows and he nodded slowly to show his understanding. Harry was aware of the feelings that Hermione had started to develop toward Ron – not just because he was a keen and observant person, but also because the two of them had briefly touched upon it in conversation. Hermione had been jealous when Ron had started snogging Lavender Brown in sixth year and Harry had helped her deal with it – telling Hermione that Ron truly was interested in her but was an idiot and didn’t recognize his own feelings. It may have been harsh and earned him a small half-hearted smack from Hermione at the time – but it was true and Harry knew it. Ron, for all his worth, was not always the brightest. It was very likely that he only ‘liked’ Hermione because they spent so much time together – but in reality, they had absolutely nothing in common and argued often. Harry had always been the bridge between the two of them. Given some space Ron would probably take interest in other girls quickly and forget his feelings for Hermione all together.

Hermione nodded in return and Harry squeezed her hands once more. Dropping them both back on the table and putting on his best smile.

“So how about breakfast,” he said with slightly over-exaggerated cheer. “I was up all night baking these things.”

Hermione laughed, always thankful for Harry’s ability to move on and force one foot in front of the other. She reached for a scone taking a bite and complimented him on his cooking skills before taking another sip of the gone-cold-then-reheated-tea-that’s-gone-cold-again-tea that Harry had made her.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today we take the first steps toward a new HP pairing and ending. Addition of new plot points too, to make the Horcrux hunting and tent time less dull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Thank you, to everyone who has read the first chapter and left comments or kudos <3 it means a whole lot more than I can say.   
> 2\. Since it is so bloody hot right now… I’ve managed to finish chapter two - since I didn’t feel like doing anything else!
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe. I own nothing but the inserted original characters/plot concepts. I make no money on this. This is simply a FAN based work.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one! Feedback/comments are always appreciated as I will use them to fuel this burning fire I seem to have contracted to write and improve my skills *intensefistraise* I only ask that you please be constructive with your criticisms and kind with your words – after all, this is just *one* story and I am writing it for fun.

**General Warnings**

explicit language, violence, dark themes, sad themes, PTSD like symptoms, blood and gore, bad situations, explicit smut (but not PWP and chapters with smut will be flagged so you know to watch for it and can skip over it if you prefer), mercy killings, potential character deaths, difficult/controversial topics, torture, interrogation and war. Please read the tags and please read individual chapter warnings

****************************************

After breakfast, the day had continued on with some sort of normality. A general air of sadness at the loss of a third of their ‘golden trio’ still filled the tent, but the earlier tension and unsurety had now dissipated and Hermione and Harry were able to interact at their normal comfort level.

She knew that the road ahead of them had just gotten harder and that the lingering sadness wouldn’t fade overnight. However, she felt hopeful that her and Harry could still be successful whether Ron returned or not – _Merlin only knows what he’ll decide to do –_ and she was happy that she and Harry had confirmed their strong friendship and their commitment to move forward. After eating her scone, she had made a silent wish to the heavens – or to whatever deity might have been listening – that during their morning conversation she had been able to successfully ward away any lingering doubts Harry might have had with her decision to stay. She meant what she said when she said it and she didn’t want Harry wasting his time in worry over how she was coping.

After finishing their scones Hermione had chased Harry into the bathroom to shower – and fought off his protests for taking the Horcrux with him. 

“It’s already had a bath today,” she'd stated firmly as she thrust clean clothes into Harry’s chest – his mouth opened in protest. “Besides,” she continued cutting off whatever he was about to say “You slept with it all last night, it’s my turn to spend some quality time with it.”

He took the clothes she had pushed into his chest but still stood in place, obviously uneasy with just giving in to her demand and leaving her with the locket. She smiled at him and then turned away to the kitchen intending to review their food list while he cleaned up. “You can have it again tonight if that will make you feel better, now go get clean!” She threw over her shoulder as she grabbed her purse and began riffling through it.

She heard him walk the few small steps to the bathroom and then the sound of the door as it clicked closed. Sighing in relief she then pulled out the list she kept of all their supplies and ran through it, making notes on what items they needed to restock.

By the time Harry had finished in the bathroom – exiting wearing the set of clean clothes she had handed him and hair still as unruly as ever – it had grown darker outside and the rain had started once more. Hermione had finished reviewing their supplies and had compiled a comprehensive list of foods and items that they needed to restock. She had since started packing up the kitchen and her belongings – preparing to move on. The riverbank near their campsite had been rising steadily over the past few days, soon their tent would be a swimming pool. They never stayed in one place for too long, always hopping from site to site to lower the risk of being tracked and caught. Today they were due to move again, and she was going to ensure that they stayed on track.

Harry saw her packing and quietly followed suit, placing his belongings in the bag that Hermione had given him when they first left the Burrow. When they had first set up camp, she taught Ron and Harry how to properly miniaturize their belongings using _reducio_ and how to cast an unbreakable charm to protect their stuff while it was carried within their bags. She’d given each of them a small backpack for storage, though the bags often ended up being carried within her own purse – more often Ron’s, since he tended to not want to carry his own, despite the feather-light charm she had carefully placed on all of their bags.

It took them a little over 40 minutes to get everything securely stored away. _Twice the time it usually takes_ , Hermione thought as she placed the tea pot back in her purse. She knew that they were moving slow from the night before, so she said nothing as Harry handed her the last tea mug at a snail’s pace. Taking a mental tally of all their belongings she looked around the tent once and issued a brief nod when she was certain that nothing was missed. Then, she threw on her rain jacket and looped her purse strap over her shoulder before exiting the tent into the rain.

Harry stepped out a moment later, the hood of his own nylon jacket pulled up over his head. She used her wand to fold up the tent and shrunk it down before stowing it away safely in her purse. They both stood quietly in the rain looking at the growing river bank.

“We can wait a little bit longer,” Harry said with a calm voice.

Hermione looked back the way that Ron had stormed off the night before. It was dark and empty. A tightness in her chest ached to stay, wanting to believe that Ron would show up any second, that they could erase the last 24 hours and go back to how things were. They both stood quietly looking toward the tree line as if waiting for the familiar * _pop_ * to sound. Hermione creased her brow, _but it won’t go back to the way it was, it can’t._ Her logic was overruling her juvenile emotions. _I won’t_.

It was like a switch flicked in her brain as the logical side of her took action – her strong side, the side that kept her safe, the side that protected her from the dark and dangerous things in the world, the side that analyzed and made the best decisions, the side that knew what she needed, and what she truly wanted. It collected her emotions and feelings for Ron into a neat little box. Then slapped a label on it that read ‘ _change your expectations, this won’t give you what you need – directions: process the change and move on_ ’. 

“No,” she said firmly and with resolve. “We’re not waiting. I’m not wasting my time on false hopes. What’s done is done. Let’s move on.”

With that she grabbed Harry’s arm firmly and apparated away, the only trace of them left in the soggy wet forest was a slight breeze as their bodies vanished from sight with a faint and distinctive _*pop*._

They landed on a windswept heather-covered hillside, and thankfully, it wasn’t raining. Stripping off their rain jackets Harry began placing the protective charms while Hermione pulled the tent out of her purse and began to set it up. An hour later they were seated several feet apart from each other on a large rock outside of the tent, sipping their tea, as the wind blew Hermione’s hair into even more of a mess – her top knot long since forgotten.

“We’re going to need a few more supplies,” Hermione said as she held her mug close to her chest. The wind was cool but the sun was still warm. Without the rain the weather was actually not too bad, the last of the fall season was upon them and soon it would be cold, snow and sleet. She shivered at the thought and was thankful for the sunshine at the moment.

“Yeah,” Harry said as he placed his teacup down to lean back on both hands. His loose-fitting black T-shirt rippled in the wind. “Our whole ‘hunter-gatherer macho living off the land’ thing has been going pretty terribly huh?”

She snorted at his attempt to keep the general mood around them becoming closer and closer to running out of food and possibly starving ‘light’.

“Yeah,” she said mocking is tone and his pose, leaning back and turning her face toward him. “Turns out that having magic doesn’t make it _that_ much easier to catch or collect food. Who would have thought?”

He smiled. “Well what do you have in mind, we can’t exactly walk into a supermarket. And we don’t have any more Polyjuice potion left.”

She hummed her agreement and pulled a small folded piece of paper out of her pocket. Unfolding it she leaned to her left to show it to Harry.

“We’re here,” she said pointing to an area on the map. Harry nodded as if this meant something to him, though in reality he had no idea where the hell they were. “I camped here once with my family when I was young. There is a small town a few kilometers to the South, on the other side of this river, with some local farms and markets. I thought – I thought we could stop there to collect some stuff once we’re packed and leaving this place.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly looking down at her face. “So – do you think the town is small enough we won’t get noticed, or are you about to suggest something that _you_ from first year would have pitched a fit over?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but clearly Harry knew her well. She would absolutely never chance bringing them into a city, town or any other populated area after what they gone through going to the Ministry of Magic. Not after seeing the undesirable posters. She doubted that Voldemort had any lackeys in this area, but she was just not willing to take the risk – Harry was right. She was about to suggest doing something that naive 11-year-old Hermione Jean Granger would have strongly disagreed with.

“You know perfectly well that I broke school rules in first year,” Hermione replied indignantly.

“Yeah, but that was toward the end of the year. Before that it was all _‘we could have been killed, or worse expelled!’_ ” he said feigning concern and placing a hand to his face in mock horror.

“Oh shut it,” she smacked his arm, her hand still holding the map.

Harry laughed but dropped his mock impression. “You’re right, I’m sorry. You were very rebellious in first year,” he winked. “So, what’s your plan”

Hermione huffed once but began explaining her plan. They would stay here for several days – typical of their usual campsite process. Then, on the 7th night because it was a Tuesday and the town should be quiet, they would pack everything up at 12am and she would apparate them closer to the town. She figured it was best to apparate them to the small pumpkin farm that sat to the North so that they didn’t stumble upon any unsuspecting people. From there they would sneak in to town using some muffling charms and the invisibility cloak while sticking to the shadows. There was a small supermarket and farmer’s market on the main street, and from what she recalled there should be a back alley running behind the two buildings. If they approached from the North, they could sneak into the alleyway undetected and break into the stores to get their supplies. She had brought muggle money along with her for the mission, so she figured they could place it in the register before leaving – so it wasn’t like they were breaking in _and_ stealing, just breaking in.

Harry nodded after she had finished explaining the plan, using the map to point to the store location and where she thought the alleyway ran. The majority of the residential housing was to the South, so there would only be a few neighbourhood blocks that they would need to navigate through to get to the store. They both agreed that the supermarket would be their prime target. Once they had what they needed she would immediately apparate them to a new location.

“Alright,” Harry said as he straightened up from looking at her map. “It’s a plan. We’ll just move slowly and carefully, and not stick around any longer than we have to.”

She nodded her agreement. Glad that they would soon be getting some supplies and feeling more confident now that Harry had agreed that her plan should be relatively safe.

The next couple of days drifted by slowly, though each day their determination grew stronger and the thought of having some fresh food over dried packaged goods kept their spirit up. A new routine started to develop between them - during the day Hermione would read her copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , she would take notes, read books to memorize new spells and look for information she might have previously missed, she’d talk to Phineas’ portrait in hopes of gathering new information, and have afternoon tea with Harry outside on _their_ rock. Harry would also talk to Phineas’ portrait – though more often than not it ended with him stuffing an indignant Phineas back into Hermione’s purse – he practiced his defence spells, gathered a few of the useful herbs that were growing on the hillside that Hermione had pointed out to him and bottled them carefully per her instructions, and he started working his way through one of Hermione’s books on defence and offensive spells.

In the evening they always ate their dinners together and discussed through anything new that they had learned during the day or reviewed the information that was provided by Phineas. They didn’t learn anything useful over the few days that they spent on the heather-covered hillside, but Hermione liked that they had established the habit anyways. Chores and maintenance tasks seemed to divide evenly and naturally between the two of them – if Hermione prepared the food Harry would clean up afterwards with no question. If Harry checked and set the protective spells around the campsite Hermione would update their list of supplies and give the tent a quick clean with some cleaning charms. They continued to take turns guarding the tent at night in 4-hour stints and would smile sleepily at each other when they traded places. Each day that went by, things got easier and the to-the-bone tired feeling they’d had the night Ron left began to lessen. 

They didn’t speak about Ron, his name was not uttered once during the entire duration they spent on the hillside. The wound was still a bit too fresh, and in Hermione’s opinion – she had nothing to say.

What was there to say? He’d abandoned them. He’d done exactly what she knew she should have expected from him – but it was exactly what she had been hoping he _wouldn’t_ do. In a lot of ways she wasn't even surprised it had happened. So, the topic was left untouched. Though she suspected it might come up later as time went on and it became easier to speak about it impartially. For now though, she was content to busy herself with reading and trying to plan where to go next.

After dinner on the 7th night Harry carried the dishes to the kitchen, casting a cleaning spell he’d learned from Hermione earlier in the week, before carefully setting the dishes onto the counter.

“Did you want to try and catch some sleep before tonight,” he asked as he set the last plate down.

Hermione looked up at him, she had already pulled a book from her bag opening it to the page she’d left off at the night previously.

“I probably should,” she sighed. “It’s going to be a long night. But honestly Harry, I don’t think I’ll be able to. My mind is racing right now, I know this plan is safe – we’ll be okay – I just,” she stopped and grimaced slightly. “I still can’t help but be nervous – after the Ministry.”

Harry nodded, he understood.

“I know,” he sighed too and came to sit at the table across from her. “I just thought I’d offer since I know I won’t be sleeping, but – it will be fine. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Just a quick in - grab supplies - then out and we’ll be right on our way.”

Hermione nodded and then proceeded to read her book. For the next few hours they sat across from one another in comfortable silence reading and waiting until midnight. Harry had started flicking through her copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ when Hermione announced it was time to pack up.

They packed with efficiency this time and had the whole tent deconstructed, neatly folder and put away within 20 minutes. They’d both changed promptly into black clothes before they’d started packing, unanimously deciding that it would be a good idea. Looking like a pair of ninjas in the night, Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm firmly and apparated them to the pumpkin farm on the North side of the town.

-x-x-

The field was quiet when they appeared, the night’s temperature significantly lower than the heat provided by the still warm sun during the day. She suspected the warm-days-cool-nights season would not last much longer though. They crouched together quietly while Harry pulled out his invisibility cloak from his pack, draping it across his forearm before re-shouldering his pack. As they stood Hermione cast two muffling charms at each of their feet, then they proceeded to creep through the dark pumpkin patch toward the town.

When they finally approached the first block of houses in the small neighbourhood to the North of the supermarket Harry covered them with the cloak and snugged up closer behind Hermione, laying one gentle hand on her shoulder so they could move more smoothly together. Travelling with multiple people under the cloak had ceased to be easy years ago - they were no longer the 11-year-old children sneaking around the castle library for books on Nicolas Flamel as they once were. Though Harry was not as tall as Ron or as thick as some of his peers he had still grown into a 5’-10” tall man with broad shoulders. Hermione was petite and on the shorter side – but regardless, navigating with two full sized adults essentially under a blanket no bigger than a double bed flat sheet was difficult.

Hermione took the lead, knowing that Harry had put her in front because she knew the area. Slowly, she led them through the neighbourhood streets toward the alleyway behind the supermarket. It took them several minutes, but they did not run into anyone along the way.

Entering the back alleyway they moved even more cautiously. The area was small and cluttered with many different objects littering their escape path. Dumpsters, doorways, boxes, random junk and signs left plenty of opportunity for people or random animals to hide behind – thankfully, they ran into none. Arriving at a slightly rusted door Hermione raised her wand to whisper _alohomora_ and unlocked it before they scuttled inside.

They spent over an hour and a half working their way through the grocery store aisles collecting different foods – mostly fresh – and other supplies like toothpaste, paper, soap and shampoos. Each item was shrunk down and carefully loaded into Hermione’s purse – each stored in a particular location within her undetectable extension charmed bag so that they could access it easily later. She preserved several of the food items so that they would keep, using charms that Harry was unfamiliar with, so that they could stock up on extra of everything. Harry was very pleased when Hermione grabbed a treacle tart, his favourite, from the bakery section and added it to the purse.

Once all their items had been safely stowed away, they approached the cash register and Hermione carefully counted out bills from the pile she had on hand. Tapping the register gently with her wand she left the cash inside and then closed it once more. Harry waited patiently for her to complete this task, knowing full well that she would never agree to steal the supplies – and frankly he admired her for her high moral standards, never failing, not even in war.

By this point they both felt the stress and anxiety of their little side quest thinning and they were feeling pretty victorious and pleased with themselves. Eager to get out into the cool night air they made their way to the back alleyway exit door in silence. They hadn’t spoken during their shopping excursion as they both were unsure what kind of alarms – if any – a small town supermarket would have. So, they opted to stay on the side of caution and communicated with slight tugs or pulls of one another’s jacket.

Reaching the door Hermione pushed it open with far less caution than she'd had while entering the store. They carefully stepped out into the alleyway together and closed the door silently behind them, locking it shut again. Turning to the right she moved them away from the light that hung in the alley and away from any of the potential security cameras so that they could stand in the dark while Harry put the cloak away. Harry didn’t trust apparating with the cloak out and Hermione agreed – it was far too valuable to lose.

Harry removed the cloak and stretched gratefully, unslinging his pack and dropping to his knees to stuff it inside. Hermione took a step away to stretch raising her arms above her head and looking at the night’s sky. It was beautiful, a full moon. She rolled her neck gently and twisted her shoulders to stretch further – turning her head quickly to the right when she heard what sounded like a surprised grunt and froze.

Two large yellowish eyes stared back at her – they looked surprised, but only momentarily. _Werewolf_! Hermione’s mind screamed.

Her hand shot out grabbing for Harry as she started to call him “Harr- _UMPF_ ”

Her cry was cut off as the werewolf – no longer stunned by their sudden appearance – lashed out a clawed arm at her in a swiping motion, clearly aiming to disembowel her. She saw a flash of gold before it caught her across the chest and stomach, knocking the wind from her lungs as she was thrown backward several feet down the alley. Her head hit the pavement hard and her vision blurred black before white lights danced in front of her eyes. Her hands came up in front of her desperately, wand raised at a target that she couldn’t even see, as sharp searing pain shot through her head and she noted that it felt warm and wet.

“HERMIONE!” Harry yelled. He’d obviously noticed the werewolf now and had thrown two stunning spells at it – but they did little to stop it as he scrambled to his feet to run toward her.

The beast lunged for his legs, mouth wide, drool flying, its eyes glowing and rolling with rage. Harry jumped and rolled to the side with no amount of finesse – barely getting his leg out of the way before the werewolf’s jaws snapped shut viciously. He threw two more spells at its face, but it only growled and bared jagged white teeth before it lunged again with a violent snarl.

Hermione managed to get herself off the ground, standing on legs that swayed with eyes that swam before she threw two stunning spells at it and Harry dodged it for a second time. Wincing her eyes in pain, the agony screaming from her chest called her to black out – she looked for Harry and begged her mind to focus. _Werewolf, werewolf – what the fuck do I use?!_

Harry was now just a few feet from her to the left, on his back in an awkward position having landed roughly to avoid the jaws that so desperately tried to rip a piece of him off. He could barely cast counters as his main focus was dodging and saving the limbs that the werewolf seemed determined to take while he tried to keep a tight hold on his wand.

She forced her brain to calculate, to function and then she raised her wand with a faintly shaking hand the same second the werewolf made to lunge toward Harry again – she struck it twice. Hard. Once with a strong _confundo, s_ econd with a direct hit _diffindo_ – she saw it rip across the werewolf’s chest and blood-spattered to the ground. Pausing only for a heartbeat she threw herself toward Harry, left hand outstretched, and she cast a final spell: _confringo!_ The werewolf and the alley where she had aimed violently exploded, shards of debris flew everywhere - but her hand had already grabbed Harry’s, he gripped her tightly, and she apparated them away.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with the aftermath of the werewolf attack. Mostly Harry's POV, less plot progression but an important moment for Hermione and Harry's relationship to grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Thank you to everyone who read the second chapter! Your comments and kudos mean the world to me <3 Thank you, Thank you!  
> 2\. I’ve completed chapter three, I hope you enjoy it :)  
> 3\. Also, I am following the werewolf information available on Pottermore regarding injuries, infections, healing, etc – so if you’re curious how I determined what was included in this chapter, that’s what I based it on.
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe. I own nothing but the inserted original characters/plot concepts. I make no money on this. This is simply a FAN based work.
> 
> Feedback/comments are always appreciated. I read them all and use them to improve, I only ask that you please be constructive with your criticisms and kind with your words – after all, there are an infinite number of ways to tell a tale and this is just *one* story that I am writing for fun. 
> 
> Updates will likely be weekly going forward (posted by Sunday).

**General Warnings**

explicit language, violence, dark themes, sad themes, PTSD like symptoms, **blood and gore** , bad situations, explicit smut (but not PWP and chapters with smut will be flagged so you know to watch for it and can skip over it if you prefer), mercy killings, potential character deaths, difficult/controversial topics, torture, interrogation and war. Please read the tags and please read individual chapter warnings

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The world around them had distorted violently, Hermione’s nails ripping into Harry’s skin as new surroundings started to warp into view. Grass, the smell of the ocean, dampness and a cool breeze hit her senses rapidly. The moment the grassy hills solidified around them and Hermione was sure she had completed their apparition she let go of Harry’s hand, unable to hang on anymore, and thumped to the ground. The force of the impact pushed the air from her lungs once more as her back collided with the ground. It was dark, the grass was damp, and she had brought them to a grassy hill near the ocean in South England – she hoped. Rolling immediately to her side Hermione vomited violently, convulsing as her head pounded, feeling as though it had been split open like a melon.

There was a reason why apparition required licensure, there was a reason why you never apparated when drunk, or injured – it was incredibly difficult to do and required immense concentration. Concentration that Hermione knew she barely had as she felt herself fading in and out of consciousness. A new wave of nausea hit her when her brain circled back to Harry. _HARRY! Where did Harry land!_ She tried to get on her knees but her whole body was shaking so violently she slumped back down again onto her back, unable to see anything as her vision faded out once more, only hearing the sound of the waves and the smell of the ocean as a light breeze blew over her face.

“HARRY!” she called out with as much force as she could manage. He could have been flung a decent way away when she let go of his hand, and she didn’t know if he’d been injured in the last moments of their escape. _FUCK!_ She thought, hot tears forming in her eyes. _I shouldn’t have let go!_ She wailed inwardly, _I should have made myself hang on!_

Raising her hand to her chest she flinched at the pain when she touched it and pulled her hand away quickly as she gagged from the feeling. Her eyes began to refocus, her surroundings becoming visible once more. She raised her hand in front of her face, she was unable to see the colour that stained it as it was still dark outside, but it didn’t matter – she knew it was wet. Dripping wet. In her blood.

A light flashed to her right and she heard Harry screaming her name.

“HERMIONE! HERMIONE!” Harry’s voice was loud and desperate. “Fuck - HERMIONE!”

“HERE!” She yelled, hand raised in the air above her, hoping that Harry would see it above the tall grass. “I’m here!” she choked out.

The light flashed in her direction and bobbed around as she heard the thumping of feet approaching. Left hand still raised in the air for Harry to see she slowly raised her right hand and wand toward her head. It was wet too and she felt a tear in her scalp along the back. She groaned, feeling like she was going to vomit again.

“HERMIONE!” Harry called once more as she heard him close in, the light from his wand casting over her outstretched hand. “Shit!”

Harry’s blood turned cold at the sight, a bloodied hand was outstretched from the tall grass, the blood was literally dripping from her fingers. He ran toward her at twice the speed, terrified of what he would see when he got there. He dropped to his knees when he reached her side, grabbing her outstretched hand in his and clenching it.

“Hermione – fuck, okay,” the panic in his voice made her head spin and she felt him drop her hand and tug at the strap around her body. Her hand fell to her side limply, she didn’t have the energy to move. She didn’t have the energy to do anything.

“Harry,” she whimpered, her eyes glazing over with more tears from the pain as her head lolled to the side. She looked up at him, catching a glimpse of his face, it was wrought with worry and fear flashed in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he said to her, but his voice betrayed him and shook with terror. “Diffindo!” Harry cut her purse strap and ripped the top of the bag open.

“Cle-anin - Dit-tany” she slurred as her vision blurred, mind waving in and out. She had lost far too much blood. “Sil- sil-vr. Blo-od replensss – po-” she couldn’t get her mouth to make the sounds that she needed them to.

“Shh, it’s okay – I’ve got you,” his voice was tense, unstoppering the bottle in his hands as he spoke. “I’ve got you, you’re okay - it’s going to be okay-”

When Harry had hit the ground, he landed about a hundred meters away from Hermione. His side hit the ground – hard – and he had felt his ribs crunch painfully. Wincing he forced himself up to his feet and looked around wildly, wand in hand, searching for Hermione. He’d caught a glimpse of her before she had lunged toward him in the alley to grab his hand and apparate them away – it was a sight he wasn’t prepared for, one he hoped he’d never see again. Her entire front was covered in red blood, it poured from her shredded jacket. Thin tendrils of blood leaked down her face from her head, and across her high cheekbones while blood caked the side of her neck.

He immediately began screaming her name, running in the direction he thought he saw her fall when the apparition was complete. He paused every 10 meters listening intently, using his wand for light, then he heard his name and his head jerked to the left. Just there to the left, he’d heard her. He _knew_ he had heard her and so he bolted. Running faster than he had ever run in his life, ignoring the screaming pain from his lungs while he breathed. Then he saw her hand, jutting out from the grass – ghost white against the crimson that stained her fingers and palms, that dripped down her forearm. When he’d gotten to her, it was so much worse than what he hoped to find. His stomach twisted as he’d dropped to his knees.

Now kneeled beside her, Harry recalled what Hermione had done when Ron was splinched. He’d summoned the essence of dittany the second he had her bag open along with a wound cleaning potion, but Hermione hadn’t even heard the words leave his mouth and was still trying to mumble out instructions. With the bottle unstoppered he first dowsed her wounds with the cleaning potion, dumping it generously over her and holding her steady when she flinched and reeled from the pain. A sound that could only be described as a yowl poured from her mouth.

“I’m so sorry Hermione,” He winced as he dropped the now empty potion bottle to the ground. Grabbing the dittany next, he unstoppered it just as fast as he had the first bottle. He quickly placed several drops over the wound on her head. He cradled her neck gently as he lifted her head up higher so that he could apply it to the full length of the wound – shushing her gently when she moaned out in protest.

He then placed the bottle on the ground with shaking hands and tore open the shredded outer jacket she had on. He gagged, fearing he’d be sick – it looked like something from a horror film. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, her dark grey shirt was torn in three large lines – all of which were oozing blood through her mangled skin. Using a carefully pointed _diffindo_ he cut her shirt down the middle and peeled it delicately to the sides. She cried out in protest, arm jutting forward to grab his forearm tightly, nails embedding themselves in his arm.

“Si – v – rr,” she slurred out again, eyes meeting his briefly before they rolled back into her head.

“Si-v,” Harry mimicked her noise, his mind racing and ignoring the painful grip she had on his arm. “Sil-er – Silver!” he shouted, sure that this was what she meant and taking her responding groan as confirmation.

He reached for her bag again and summoned _silver,_ unsure of exactly what would show up – but out popped a small bottle of what looked like silver power.

“Okay – okay, I’ll put this on too,” his voice was quick, barely keeping the panic at bay as he picked up the dittany and began pouring it along her chest wounds, shaking a small amount of the silver powder on top of it. He had no idea what he was doing, he wasn’t a giant encyclopedia of knowledge like Hermione was – but he trusted her mind even when she was in this state.

Hermione cried out beneath his hands. “I know,” he said as soothingly as he could while her whimpers continued. “I know, I’m sorry – I’m so sorry Hermione. It’s okay – you’re going to be okay.”

He added another pass of dittany to her wounds for good measure then capped the bottle before dropping it to the ground next to the silver powder. Finally, he summoned the blood replenishing potion, cracked the bottle open, and then lifted her head to rest on his extended leg before bringing the bottle to her lips.

“Hermione,” he said in the calmest voice he could manage. “I’ve got the blood replenishing potion, you have to drink it okay – I need you to swallow.” He tilted the bottle and she managed to drink a gulp of the potion before she sputtered and coughed.

 _Shit!_ He thought as he brought the bottle away from her lips. _I have no idea how much to give her._

“I – I don’t know how much Hermione – please” he stammered, a new desperation in his voice. _I’m so fucking useless,_ he moaned inwardly, cursing his lack of knowledge and his constant dependency on the very girl who now laid limp and bloodied in his arms. “How much do I give you?”

“T-t-tooo. Bot – bot -s,” she stammered out, her eyes had fallen closed and her body started shaking from blood loss.

Harry quickly brought the bottle back up to her mouth and coaxed the rest of it down. He discarded the first empty bottle and summoned a second and helped her drink it, muttering encouraging words to her as she went. Promising her that she would be okay, that they would be fine and that when this was all over, he was going to learn, he was going to be better, he would be prepared – he would be someone that she could depend on. When the second bottle was finished, she looked a little less pale, her breathing had evened out and her shaking had subsided to a gentle tremor. She took a shaky breath as her eyes fluttered beneath her lashes, Harry held onto her hand gently so she would know he was there, that she wasn’t alone.

Upon a quick inspection a moment later the wound on the back of her head seemed to be all but healed, the dittany having worked exactly the way that he knew it should – but the wounds across her chest were a different story and like nothing he’d ever seen. They were large, angry and deep. They had closed now so she wasn’t losing any additional blood – but only just, and they looked as if a gust of wind might rip them open again if it was anything more than a slight breeze. It was too hard to see the exact extents of the damage or what scarring might be left due to all the blood that still covered her chest and the torn remains of her shirt that stuck to her skin.

The tension in her body was evident, her hand still trembled in Harry’s, a constant steady shake. Her whole body shivered slightly against the cold ground and her breathing was still quicker than normal. Harry knew that she needed to relax, she needed to rest so that her body could heal and he needed to get her cleaned up so that he knew what he was dealing with. He reached for her bag and summed out one bottle of calming draught and two blankets. Rolling one up like a pillow he gently placed it under her head and then covered her with the second.

“Hermione,” he said slowly, still gripping her shaking hand. “I’m going to get the tent set up and get you inside and cleaned up. I’ve got calming draught for you first okay? It – it will help. I’ll only be gone a minute okay? I promise – just a minute – so I can get you inside.”

She murmured something that Harry could not make out, it sounded like ‘ _mmm’_ to him though, so he quickly tilted her head again and slowly poured the calming draught into her mouth. She swallowed diligently, and after finishing the bottle he saw her form visibility relax. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before standing quickly to set up the tent.

Harry moved faster than he thought physically possible. Circling the area to set-up the protective wards and enchantments – one eye always on Hermione’s small form in the grass. He then summoned the tent from her purse, it flew out aggressively, and he had it set-up in the shortest time he’d ever managed it. Throwing the empty bottles, remaining essence of dittany and silver powder into her purse, he collected her wand and then using his own, carefully levitated her into the tent. She murmured only slightly at the movement, having lost consciousness while Harry was setting up the tent.

Transfiguring the now bloodied blanket into a sort of cot he laid Hermione on it in the center of the kitchen area and then proceeded to clean her up. Using one of the spells she’d taught him, _tergeo,_ and a damp cloth he wiped away the blood on her hands, face, neck and head – purposely leaving her chest for last as he was terrified to touch it. Terrified that he’d accidentally rip it back open and undo whatever he’d managed to do thus far. He forced his hands to be steady, taking deep breaths as he worked and blinked back the tears that had started to form in his eyes.

Once the rest of her was cleaned up he carefully cut away the remainder of her shirt and jacket and discarded them to the side – he left her bloodied bra in place for the time being, despite the fact that it didn’t seem to be held together in the center anymore having been sliced down the middle by the werewolf’s claw. He cast a quick cleaning charm on it to help clear the dried blood. He didn’t feel comfortable removing it – it felt to invasive, she wasn’t even conscious right now. He would remove it once the rest of her chest was cleaned up, before he put her in a fresh shirt, and he promised himself that he would close his eyes while doing so.

Cleaning the front of her off gave a much better picture of the damage that was done. She’d received three large wounds. The first swept across her left collar bone to mid-sternum. The second started just above her left breast and cut clear across her chest down to her lower ribs on the right side – directly between her breasts. The third stretched from the top left of her stomach down to almost her right hip bone. Harry’s breath shuddered as he stared down at her, she was so small. _So fucking tiny_ , he thought. And now she was marred with scars that were too large for her. Too angry. Too violent. Sure, the blood was gone, her shredded skin was ‘healed’ from the dittany and silver – but the distorted and angry red marks… they would stay. He knew they would. He didn’t know much about injuries caused by werewolves, but if the dittany hadn’t removed the scars yet – they weren’t going anywhere. A tear slipped from his eye and he shook his head as a sob caught in his throat.

“IT’S NOT RIGHT!” he screamed out, the quiet tent rippling from the breeze in response. He threw the bloodied rag he still held to the ground as hard as he could. His breath coming in short gasps.

He reached for her bag, unable to keep his hands from shaking as he pulled out a fresh set of her clean clothes. Then carefully, so as not to move her too much, he redressed her in a pair of comfy black sweats and a loose-fitting purple zip up sweater. True to his earlier promise, he kept his eyes closed when he removed her bra, making sure that she was properly covered before he opened them again. Then he levitated her from the makeshift cot to her bunk, adding a pair of her thick knitted red socks to her feet before pulling the blanket over her.

Unable to leave her side, Harry pulled a chair over next to her bunk and sat down. Grabbing hold of her hand gently he began tracing light circles across her knuckles with his thumb. She looked calm now, her face no longer distorted in anguish. Her cheeks were rosy – having been freshly replenished with blood. Her breathing was deep and relaxed thanks to the calming draught and the cut on her head had all but vanished.

“You’re okay,” he said softly, his eyes tracing the shape of her face, memorizing it. “I’m going to make sure you’re okay. Always.”

The sound of the ocean waves rocked gently through the tent as he continued to stare at her. He stared at her in silence until his eyes started to droop, until his shoulders started to slump and until his head bobbed and he drifted off to sleep still clutching her hand.

-x-x-

Hermione’s head pounded. It felt like someone had hit her across the back of her head with a rock, or perhaps a sledgehammer. Her eyes were still closed, they felt too heavy to open, but she could hear a faint voice to her right, it was familiar – though her brain did not seem to want to function properly just yet. She was tired, so tired. Her body felt like it had been put through a garburator and her chest ached something awful. She laid there for a moment longer, trying to collect her bearings, trying to recall what her last conscious thought had been. It was at that moment that she heard the gentle waves and she registered the smell of the ocean – and then everything flooded back to her like lightening.

“HARRY!” she screamed, as her eyes flew open and she attempted to shoot up in bed.

Firm hands grasped her shoulders and supported her as she nearly collapsed from the intense pain that ripped through her chest.

“Hey relax,” someone said. It was Harry’s voice, it was calm, it was soothing.

She forced her eyes to focus as she allowed the arms that held her shoulders to gently guide her to lean on a pillow, propped up from the bed. Harry was there, to her right – an opened book half fallen out of his lap as he leaned over her to lay her down. His eyes looked tired and worn, but there was something else there – happiness, and he looked like he was going to cry.

“Harry are you alright?” she asked, voice hoarse. Her brows furrowing in concern as she examined his face, then neck and chest – her eyes drifting over his body quickly taking him in to make sure he was all there. “Were you bitten? Are you okay?”

Tears filled Harry’s eyes and his face scrunched a fraction. She didn’t understand what was going on – then he laughed. It was more like a bark, a release of physical tension as his face turned into an anguished joy she’d never seen before and he leant forward to hug her.

“You’re fucking unbelievable, Hermione,” he said into her hair, she could feel his tears against her cheek and she stiffly raised her left arm to hug him back. A sob escaped his chest and he pulled her tighter to him – but not too tight she noted, he was handling her with restraint.

“You were mauled by a fucking werewolf, split your head open, almost died from blood loss, have been unconscious for 2 days -“ his voice broke as he nuzzled his head closer to her neck. “And you ask _me_ if I’m okay? – fuck – yes, I’m okay Hermione – ugh.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled into his neck. He laughed slightly before he gently pulled away, sitting back down on his chair but leaning toward her.

“Are _you_ okay?” he asked her, looking at her as intently as she had examined him.

“I feel like shit, if I’m being honest,” she replied, a weak smile gracing her lips. Harry returned her smile empathetically and she continued. “My head’s a bit rough, like a bad headache – I – I must have hit it a bit harder than I thought.”

Harry nodded. “You did. There was a gash along the back – it’s healed up now, but I imagine it still hurts something terrible. Is there anything that I can get you for the headache?”

Hermione nodded slowly, her head not allowing anything faster.

“Before we left Mrs. Weasley gave me a few of her home remedy potions for headaches, she calls them _headache helpers_ , there should be some in my bag.”

Harry nodded. “Let’s see,” he reached down beside him, grabbed her bag, and located the small bottle with a smile. “Here you go.” He said gently, opening the bottle and passing it to her.

Hermione took the potion gratefully, drinking it quickly and returning the bottle to Harry. Harry saw the effects of the potion almost instantly, the slight furrow in her brow relaxing and her shoulders dropping a fraction.

“Better?” he inquired, eyebrow raise in anticipation.

“So much,” she let out a breath and relaxed further into her pillow. A small smile on her lips.

“Good!” Harry said, grinning widely. Then he paused for a minute and gently took her right hand again, leaning in toward her once more. Slowly and cautiously, he raised his eyes to meet hers. “How about your chest?” he asked softly.

“It,” Hermione grimaced, looking down at the purple zip up sweater she was wearing. “It aches,” she said in a hollow voice.

Harry’s hand instinctively tightened around hers and she squeezed back.

“It- um – it aches in a way that I can’t even describe,” she looked up at him, despair present in her eyes. “I know it won’t heal fully,” she stated quickly, her voice switching to a matter-of-fact-strictly-business tone.

“I wasn’t bitten – just scratched – I was lucky – but injuries inflicted by a werewolf are dark magic – they don’t heal like other wounds,” she was trying to make her voice optimistic, like somehow, she had gotten the good end of the stick. “Some never heal. A lot of people bleed out before they even have to worry about being infected. I was lucky – we were lucky. It was a full moon. If we’d been bitten, we would have been infected.”

“I know,” Harry said gently, gesturing his head towards her purse. “I spent yesterday reading about werewolves and researching how to treat wounds to make sure I didn’t miss anything. You only get infected if you’re bitten when they’re in wolf form at a full moon. We _were_ incredibly lucky. One nip on either of us and we would have been infected. The silver powder mixed with dittany will seal the wounds, so you don’t bleed to death – but they never fully heal. They always leave lasting scars. Hermione - ”

He paused, shaking his head once firmly and looked at her seriously.

“If you hadn’t told me to use the silver powder – you would have bled to death. Your wounds wouldn’t have closed. I would have dumped the whole bottle of dittany over you like a fucking moron and you would have bled out in my arms!” His voice had risen in volume and he was clutching her hand tightly.

“Harry,” Hermione said softly. _He’s angry¸_ she thought and frowned _angry at himself_. “Harry it’s okay, you saved my li-”

“No, you saved your life!” Harry yelled, cutting her off. He looked almost out of breath, like he’d been waging a silent inner war for the past two days. “You knew what to do, _you_ told me _,_ you TOLD me to get the silver. You were bloody half dead and you STILL knew what to do – you _STILL_ had to help me.”

His face was broken. The hand that didn’t hold hers was flailing in the air wildly from his gestures.

“Harry, stop, you saved me that night, without you there I would have DIED!” Hermione was sitting up now, ignoring the throbbing in her chest.

Harry shook his head, letting go of her hand and dropping it into both of his hands before running his fingers back through his hair and sitting up straight. A look of dead seriousness had befallen his face.

“You were right,” he spoke quietly, his eyes gazing up at the roof of the tent. “Before I mean. You were always right before.”

“What do you mean, Harry?” she asked, placing a calming hand on his knee.

“In school. You were right in school,” he turned his eyes to hers and it was at that moment she registered the desperation and pain in his eyes. “We never took anything seriously,” he was painfully quiet now, Hermione held her breath to hear him.

“We never studied, unless you made us, we never cared. I never put in enough effort. I never tried to better myself the way that I should have. I just fucked around having fun, thinking I could learn it later, or thinking that I didn’t need it at all because it was _boring_. I spent 6 years – 6 years surrounded by almost infinite resources! – I could have learned anything! But I didn’t. I got caught up in everything going on with _you-know-who_ and I chose to rely on my luck instead of bettering my skill. I relied on everyone else around me. But mostly, I relied on you,” he was staring at her with such intensity she had to force herself to continue looking him in the eyes. “We’re in the middle of a fucking war, and I’m unprepared. Not only do I have no idea what the actual FUCK it is that I’m supposed to be doing – I’m also a joke. I hardly know anything that I should. I know only a fraction of what you do – I know I’ll never be as smart as you – But I am so – so god damn disappointed in myself! If not for you, I’d be dead by now. If not for you, you would have died the other night. All I did was follow exactly what you told me, and do what I’d seen you do before and I-I’m-”

He had clenched his fists angrily beside him, Hermione unaware of how tightly she now gripped his knee.

“I’m supposed to be some _chosen one_ and I’m fucking useless – and I’m done with it,” he stared at her meaningfully. “Once you’re healed, I want you to teach me. I want you to show me. I want to practice. I want to learn what I need to know. Every hour we’re stuck waiting to find a clue and figure out what to do, I want to work – harder than I’ve ever worked before. I want to be someone you can be proud of. I want to be there for you, the way that you have been there for me – I – I want you to be able to depend on me.”

He reached out gently now, the anger and yelling having faded away leaving only a lingering intensity and determination.

“Please, Hermione,” he said as he clutched her hand securely between his own, bringing it up to his face and pressing it to his chin and lower lip. “Will you help me one last time. Will you help me become more?”

Hermione wasn’t sure that she had been breathing during Harry’s rant. She wanted to tell him that he was incredible as he was, that he was talented, kind and caring. That he had skills that she could never dream of having – that he shouldn’t be so hard on himself. He was an incredible person and she respected and cared for him more than he could even begin to comprehend. She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come out.

His eyes were desperate and scared. They were eager and nervous. They were hopeful, and the determination that burned in them made a shiver run down her spine. This was about her – about what happened to her. That night had terrified Harry to his core, down to the very essence of his being. It was the first time he truly realized that he might lose her – he might lose her because of his shortfalls. He was scared. Scared that next time she might not be able to tell him what to do, to guide him. That he might be left alone and not have the answer to the problem – that he might have to watch her bleed out in his arms. The reality of the war and the possibilities of what could come had cut deep into his soul.

She took a shaky breath and fixed her eyes firmly to his – he didn’t need adoration right now. He didn’t need his ego praised. He needed to grow, and he wanted her support to do so.

“Yes,” she breathed in a whisper, the words falling softly from her lips.

Harry’s eyes closed in relief and he placed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“Thank you,” he murmured.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Hermione/Harry moments while healing and some key conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. All of you are amazing <3 Thank you for your encouragement!  
> 2\. I hope you enjoy chapter 4!  
> 3\. In terms of timelines, I assumed Ron left September 15 and the werewolf attack was Tuesday September 23 – in case you were curious.
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Feedback/comments are always appreciated. I read them all and use them to improve, I only ask that you please be constructive with your criticisms and kind with your words – after all, there are an infinite number of ways to tell a tale and this is just *one* story that I am writing for fun.
> 
> Updates will be weekly going forward – posting on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional Wednesday chapter when possible.

**General Warnings**

explicit language, violence, dark themes, sad themes, PTSD like symptoms, blood and gore, bad situations, explicit smut (but not PWP and chapters with smut will be flagged so you know to watch for it and can skip over it if you prefer), mercy killings, potential character deaths, difficult/controversial topics, torture, interrogation and war. Please read the tags and please read individual chapter warnings

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They sat quietly for several minutes after Harry's outburst and his request for her help in his plan to become more. Hermione was leaned back against the pillow, Harry hunched forward – elbows resting on his knees with her hand still pressed gently to his closed lips as he stared at the edge of the bed in front of him.

Hermione spoke first, clearing her throat slightly as the words came out.

"Thank you - for cleaning me up," her voice was soft, and her eyes were downcast.

"Yeah, of course," Harry said with a small smile, sitting up straight to look at her. Then he noticed the blush that crept over her cheeks, not quite hidden by her hair. _Oh_ , he thought as the realization dawned on him. She was embarrassed. "I didn’t - I-I didn't look!"

He stammered the words out quickly, a blush forming on his cheeks as he averted his eyes back down to the hand he still held - now realizing the intimacy of his recent actions he felt nervous. He squeezed her hand once and then gently placed it back on the bed.

"I closed my eyes," he continued awkwardly. "I didn't think it was right to - you weren't awake - I, I didn’t look when I - erm - changed your clothes."

Hermione's face was a very bright shade of scarlet, but she forced herself to look up toward him.

"That must have, um," she paused briefly swallowing down the awkwardness. "That must have made things a little bit more difficult."

Harry smiled sheepishly and looked up to meet her eyes.

"Only a little," he admitted, the blush still tinting his cheeks. "But I didn’t mind. It was the least I could do Hermione."

"Thank you," she said smiling back at him.

"So, are you hungry or thirsty? Should I get you something to drink?" he looked at her with anticipation, hoping this awkwardness would go away and ready to get her whatever she needed.

"I'm actually starving," she breathed, a genuine grin gracing her lips. "But umm, I - I need to go to the loo."

Hermione's blush deepened once more.

"Right!" said Harry quickly, standing up awkwardly and moving the chair out of the way as he muttered to himself. "Of course, of course - you've been asleep for two days."

He stood at the edge of her bed, helped her pull the blanket off and swing her legs over the side. Standing directly in front of her they grabbed each other’s forearms and Hermione took a breath.

“You ready?” he asked, waiting for her to take the lead.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. Spreading her feet on the ground to a wider stance. “Okay, let’s do this – Now.”

Harry all but entirely lifted her up while Hermione pushed the best she could with her feet. A loud groan seeped through her lips and she swayed on her feet, head dropping to collide with Harry’s chest. Her grip on his forearms was tight and she let out a raggedy breath.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked softly, ducking his head closer to her ear. Her soft curls brushing his cheek.

“Yeah,” she said slightly breathless. “Yeah – yeah, I’m okay. Okay.”

Hermione slowly lifted her head and let go of one of his arms, giving him the faintest smile. Walking slowly, Harry at her side, still clutching his one arm they made their way over to the washroom. Her steps were slow, and each movement hurt. Once at the door Harry let Hermione go, but made her promise to call him if she needed anything – adding with a wink that he would of course, close his eyes. Hermione snorted at him but agreed, accepting the clean clothes he handed her, a faint blush flushed her cheeks as she thanked him quickly and entered the bathroom.

Hermione closed the door to the bathroom behind her and took the three small steps to the loo slowly, hand on the sink for balance. She gritted her teeth in pain, clenching her jaw to hold back a painful groan as she lowered herself to the toilet and forced herself back up afterwards. _Who would have thought that going to the bathroom would be so fucking painful!_ she thought in frustration.

But succumbing to the pain or lazing about after her injury was the worst thing that she could do - since essence of dittany heals your wounds almost instantly, you need to force the newly constructed muscle and skin to adapt and essentially become one with the rest of your unharmed body. The lingering painful throbs were only her nerve endings sorting out the fact that they'd been healed and reattached - but they weren’t damaged any longer. She needed to be up and moving around, forcing the newly mended muscles in her body to strengthen and adjust, and she need to force her mind to accept that she was healed.

That was the interesting thing about magical healing - it fixed you physically, but it didn't exactly send a memo to your brain telling it to understand that you were no longer injured. Half the healing process for wizards was allowing time for your brain to process the pain, process what had happened and accept it and move on.

In this case, however, she knew that the intense pain she was feeling was also related to the dark magic that now lingered in her body and the damage that it had done to her core muscles. Based on her readings she expected the pain to continue much longer than what would be considered normal for magical healings – and the scars.... well they would last forever.

Now finished washing her hands, she looked up in the mirror and stared at her reflection. She looked normal. A little tired perhaps, the bags under her eyes more prominent than what they used to be - though that in itself seemed to be becoming normal as well. But otherwise, aside from her exceptionally messy hair, she looked perfectly ordinary.

Slowly, carefully, she raised her hands to the zipper on her sweater. Pausing when they made contact with the cold steel tab, she took a deep breath and began to pull it down.

Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes brimmed with tears, she scrunched them closed as a strangled sob erupted from her throat. She jammed her mouth into the inner corner of her elbow, refusing to make another noise as she shook faintly on the spot. The fingers on her opposite hand clutched the edge of the cool porcelain sink tightly.

It was hideous. _She_ was hideous.

She stifled two more gasping sobs and forced herself to look in the full-length mirror. Sweater hanging open she dropped it from her shoulders to fully reveal the three jagged scars. Three horrendous and violent markings - markings that would be a part of her forever. Somehow looking at them made them ache even more. She clamped her eyes shut once more and tilted her head back toward the ceiling.

 _It’s okay, it's okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,_ she chanted in her head like a mantra. _It doesn't matter. It's okay. It doesn't matter. It's just your skin. It's not you._ She took a breath as she rocked on the borderline of hyperventilation. _It's just the outside. It’s okay, it doesn't matter. You're okay. You're lucky. They don’t matter. You’re okay._

She believed the words that ran through her mind, she really did. She truly believed that the scars didn't matter – that appearances didn’t matter. She’d never cared about that. This wasn't any different. But a small part of her lamented over her newly mangled appearance and she desperately wanted to take that part of herself and bury it. She knew that it would take time, just time that's all. _I'll be okay. This is fine. YOU ARE FINE,_ she thought firmly, wiping her arm across her eyes and smearing the tears that had been leaking from her betraying eyes.

She turned around promptly, turned on the shower and shimmied out of her sweats – avoiding bending over completely before stepping into the stall.

Hermione was in the bathroom for a long time, taking care to clean every single part of her and wash her hair thoroughly. She touched the scars on her chest only briefly, her hand jutting away at the feel of rough unfamiliar skin – she needed more time to accept what had happened. She would get familiar with them later when they didn’t make her want to vomit.

Harry had lingered by the bathroom door briefly after Hermione had gone inside, he was hesitant to leave her alone. He was worried about her, worried about how she would react when she saw the scars – but he knew that this was deeply personal. This was something that she needed to see and deal with on her own. She would want to be alone to see them the first time and he suspected she would likely hide them going forward. While Harry didn’t think appearances were the most important thing in the world – and he knew that Hermione believed this to her core – he worried that she would still be ashamed of them. Insecure with her new and permanent appearance. Harry could only hope that she knew how beautiful she truly was.

He wandered slowly back to the kitchen and started to prepare food for dinner. His hands stopped moving and his whole body flinched when he heard her first stifled sob. A chill ran down his spin and he closed his eyes tightly, tilting his head back and up to the ceiling. His heart ached for her and he found himself standing with tightly clenched fists. Taking a breath, he forced himself to continue.

-x-x-

Hermione exited the bathroom sometime later wearing a loose-fitting dark green long sleeve shirt, a yellow hair tie around her wrist and charcoal sweat pants, and slowly made her way toward the kitchen table as green knitted socks padded softly on the floor. Harry walked around to help her sit at the table and she quickly started eating the food he had prepared – a plate of sandwiches, a bowl of fresh fruit, rolls, hot tea (freshly reheated) and a glass of water. She thanked him – blushing as she proceeded to eat twice the normal amount she typically would.

Over dinner Harry told her about where he landed, how he had found her – he skipped over the gory details of her wellbeing upon being discovered – and assured her that he had managed to heal his wounds. He’d healed his own ribs, using _episkey_ since they were only mildly cracked. He’d had a few small cuts from the debris of the explosion Hermione had cast but those he healed as well. Hermione insisted that he show her and let her check him over once for any other missed injuries. He complied easily, not taking it as an insult to his abilities and instead understanding that it was just her obsessive concern over making sure that everyone else was okay. After she had confirmed that his ribs were indeed healed – Harry barking out a laugh and pulling away when she prodded him gently – she accepted that Harry was truly ‘okay’.

Reaching forward Hermione grabbed for her third roll of the night and the sleeve of her dark green shirt pulled up revealing the yellow hair tie around her wrist. Her hand froze, and she stared at it – a sick feeling of something familiar creeping over her. Her brain started to flip through her memories like an old photo reel, faster and faster as it tried to hone in on something. She didn’t hear Harry say her name with question, as he looked at her frozen extended arm and wide eyes. Then it hit her, like a flood – she saw the werewolf, the moonlight, the yellow glowing eyes. She saw as it raised its clawed arm up toward her and then she saw the glint of a thick, gold metal band around its wrist.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, her eyes darting toward him as her heart started to race. “Harry the werewolf!” Her mind was reeling as it tried to process her revelation.

Harry looked at her concerned “Yes, there was a werewolf Hermione,” he said slowly watching her face.

“No, no, I know – Harry,” she rolled her eyes withdrawing her hand and holding her wrist up for him to see. “I know there was a werewolf – I didn’t hit my head that hard – I just remembered the band.”

She shook her wrist at Harry, her eyes wide and Harry looked at her dumbfounded.

“The werewolf had a BAND Harry!” she said pointing to the hair tie that was still on her wrist. “I remember the attack, I remember what happened – but I forgot that it had a band. I saw it – only I’d forgotten until just now when I saw my hair tie and it reminded me. Harry! The werewolf had a thick gold band on its wrist!”

“Okay – I believe you,” he said, confusion scrunching on his face. “But why would a werewolf have a gold band on its wrist? Could it have been from before it transformed?”

“It’s highly unlikely,” she said sitting up straighter and putting her palms flat on the table. “Typically, lycanthropes are a bit larger when in wolf form. I doubt a person would wear a solid gold band that large day to day. It would be impractical, it would be too big and fall off. It must have been put on after.”

“Hermione,” he said slowly, his hands also planted on the table now. “Werewolves aren’t exactly tame, and they don’t think like humans in their wolf form – I doubt that it would have put it on itself, that doesn’t make any sense. But you can’t exactly approach a werewolf and put a band on it.”

“I know!” she exclaimed “I – I don’t know what this means. Someone must have banded it. The question though is why? Why band a werewolf and how did they manage to do it?”

Harry shook his head in disbelief “I didn’t even notice the band, I was so busy jumping all over the place and watching its mouth,” he laughed quietly, “it’s like first year all over again. I believe you Hermione – but – are you sure. You’re SURE that you saw the band?”

Hermione nodded firmly, her eyes deadly serious.

“I’m sure Harry. Positive. I’d bet my magic.”

Harry nodded, accepting her surety with full faith.

“Okay,” he said. “Then it looks like we have another ridiculous mystery to try and work out.”

They continued eating and talking about the possible ways someone could have banded a werewolf and more importantly – why in Merlin’s name would anyone want to do it.

Once the food was put away, Hermione started to get very sleepy and so Harry helped her back to bed. Tucked in and propped gently against the pillow Harry pulled his chair back over and sat next to her – they talked quietly until Hermione’s eyes began to droop more and more.

“You should sleep,” he said finally, a soft expression on his face.

“Mmm,” she replied softly. “I will.”

She stared at him sleepily, a thought forming in her eyes when they lazed over to the book that sat on the stand by her bunk. The same book that had been on Harry’s lap that morning. A sleepy smile formed on her lips and she quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Harry,” she said eyeing him again. “Were you reading to me before I woke up.”

Harry’s cheeks tinted the slightest shade of pink. “Yes,” he said unsurely. “I um – I thought you might like it. That – maybe it would help you sleep well.”

Hermione’s grin split into a full smile and she reached for his hand, he let her take it, and she gripped it softly.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said as her eyes closed as her breathing became deeper. “Thank you, for everything Harry.”

Harry gripped her hand softly, knowing she had already fallen asleep.

“Always Hermione,” he said softly before pulling the sheet up tighter to her shoulders.

-x-x-

The next two weeks went by slowly. Every morning Hermione woke to Harry sitting in his chair reading softly next to her. He helped her from bed – mornings were always the worst and the stiffness across her chest made it difficult for her to pull herself from bed – and then they would eat breakfast together. They spent their mornings reading, discussing theories around Horcruxes and the banded werewolf, and Hermione taught Harry helpful facts and spells. After lunch they would spend 2 hours walking around the tent – or outside if the weather was good – and completing several small muggle exercises and stretches to assist Hermione’s body with adjusting to the newly healed muscles. Dinner usually involved Harry asking Hermione questions and him designing a list of all the things he wanted to learn and developing a training regime. In the evenings they would sit together, inside or out, and have tea – usually quietly discussing their plans going forward.

Hermione helped Harry with the food and the chores the best she could and they both agreed that she would not be able to apparate for some time, that it was best not to push things too quickly and that given how far South she’d taken them they _should_ be okay not to move for two weeks. Harry re-set the wards every 12 hours instead of their original 24-hour cycle and they added a detection charm 100 meters out to alert them of anything entering or leaving the tent circumference. They planned to walk several kilometers South at the end of the second week and to set-up a new campsite along the coast.

As the two weeks progressed and the 9th of October approached, Hermione couldn’t help but feel like the dynamic between the two of them had shifted. She’d always been immensely close to Harry – they got along and worked well together, they mutually respected each other, they understood each other’s muggle upbringings and they were able to have a discussion without bickering. Harry never made fun of her for being a ‘bookworm’ and he could keep up in their conversations and hold his own.

But something, something had changed. It was small and gradual, and she almost didn’t notice it. The night before the day they were going to travel further South, her mind finally clicked on it. Harry had handed her a tea, it was their evening routine, and proceeded to sit down next to her on a small rock in the tall grass so that they could look out at the sea. The night was calm, the waves were gentle, and the atmosphere was comfortable. What was different – Hermione’s brain noted – was how close Harry sat down next to her. It wasn’t invasive or uncomfortable – she didn’t want him to move, it was just _closer_ than where he would have sat three weeks ago.

Everything in their movements and behaviours had started to become closer over the last three weeks. Harry would sit on the edge of her bed in the mornings now instead of his chair, Hermione would lay her legs across Harry's to share the footstool when they read together on the couch in the mornings, Harry would place a gentle hand on her lower back if he was walking around her, and Hermione would catch herself reaching out to grab his hand or place her hand on his knee more and more often when they were talking. 

She smiled at him over her hot mug while he talked about a new spell he’d discovered in one of her books – one of the books she’d _borrowed_ from the restricted section. The spell was old and unknown to most wizards as it was very difficult to cast, required complicated wand movements and was largely abandoned due to its double-edged nature. The spell was an old protection charm, one that produced a shield that completely encompassed one’s body and would move with the caster’s movements. If desired, the spell could even be cast on another human being or creature. The problem was that if cast incorrectly, or if cast without the utmost sincerity, the charm would produce a bubble that encompassed the caster or target but that caused harm until it dissipated.

His expression was animated, his hands showing her the wand motion the thought was required, clearly very excited to try out the new spell. She was unsure exactly what had shifted between them – whether it was just a temporary and natural shift post werewolf attack or if there was something more, something deeper that would require time to announce itself. She didn’t know what it meant, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it.

What she did know with certainty though, was that the last three weeks had been downright terrible and that this war was only going to get worse with each passing day – and, that these last three weeks had cemented the fact that she never wanted to lose him. She couldn’t imagine a life without Harry in it in some fashion, she needed him to be here. She knew that despite the unsurety attached to this new change, deep, deep down in the parts of her that she often ignored – she knew that something about it felt right, it felt natural.

-x-x-

When the morning of October 9th rolled around Harry and Hermione got up early, prepared for a long day of walking ahead of them. The day started off well, Hermione was successfully able to pull herself from bed with no assistance. Harry laughed at her when she cheered and did a little victory wiggle, but then promptly joined in and spun her in a twirl. They both laughed and sang ‘ _I got out of bed myseeeeeelf! I got out of bed myseeeeeeelf!’_ and twisted in a circle together a few times – one of Hermione’s hands clutched in Harry’s, the other on his shoulder while Harry’s free hand rested lightly on the small of her back. She leaned in and hugged him tightly before rocking back to her heels and grinning widely at him. Dropping her hands, she asked him what he wanted for breakfast and headed toward the kitchen.

They ate breakfast quickly and put away the tent, having done most of the packing the day before. By 9:30 am they were already walking slow steady steps to the South, along the coast, with a goal of walking 30 kilometers – but realistically hoping to get to at least 20. They were both rather pleased when they made it 25 kilometers before Hermione groaned out that she needed to stop for the day.

The day had been long and rough, with only short breaks to eat and drink. Harry could tell that Hermione was frustrated with her lack of physical stamina and the toll that the werewolf wounds had taken on her body – he stood next to her and gently rubbed circles on her back, reminding her that it was only temporary and that soon, very soon, she would be back to her full strength if not stronger.

Hermione had leaned into his hand and side, her head resting softly on his shoulder while she nodded to his words – knowing that they were true. When she stepped away to pull the tent from her bag Harry was left feeling like his mind was both simultaneously blank and perplexed, he watched her shoulders move fluidly as she began to set-up the tent.

He’d always considered Hermione to be his absolute closest friend. He’d never tell that to Ron – because he knew that it would devastate him, but it was true. He and Ron were close sure, but they were close in a different way. Ron was like the brother that Harry never had, he loved him unconditionally, but sometimes he just wanted to punch the living shit out of him. He was a good guy, who had a good heart – but Harry was never able to talk to Ron the same way he could Hermione. And frankly, Ron had a bit of a record for being a dick and flaking off when Harry needed him. The Triwizard tournament being a prime example. Why the actual fuck Ron would have thought Harry had entered his own name into the cup _still_ boggled Harry’s mind – he knew it was some unresolved self-esteem issue or something – but still, what the fuck. _Who does that_?

Hermione on the other hand – she was something different. Something more. Harry needed her. Not in the sense that he used her, or that he needed something from her. No – it wasn’t like that. Harry couldn’t help but feel like he needed her a lot more like how he needed water, or how he needed air. Three weeks ago, he never would have been able to imagine life without her in it, but frankly he hadn’t even thought about that then. Hermione was always just there, and he took it for granted. Today – today he would do anything, _anything,_ to keep her safe, and he actively thought about her presence.

Hermione had always been there for him, she’d always supported him unconditionally, and she’d always believed in him – even when he wasn’t confident in himself. Hermione was always very important to Harry and undeniably his closest friend.

But as he watched her shoulders roll, her arms move, and her head flick her hair out of the way to continue raising the tent he couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in his gut that something had changed between them. It was in their interactions, in their conversations. It was subtle, he wasn’t sure if she was even aware of it and he hadn’t sorted out what it meant yet. All he knew was that he cared deeply for Hermione – more deeply than he initially realized – and… that he liked the feeling.

Once the tent was set-up they ate a quick dinner, flopped into armchairs and rested the remainder of the evening before they both went to bed early. They were exhausted from their walk and knew that they needed their rest if they wanted to start implementing the new training regime that Harry had drafted out. In addition to wanting to learn new offensive, defensive and healing spells Harry had decided that he wanted to add some physical training to the bucket for good measure. Hermione had agreed, thinking it was a very clever and logical idea, and decided to join in on his schedule. That night they both climbed sleepily into their bunks, saying good night softly with a wave of their hand before closing their eyes. Each of them pondering over the shift in their relationship. Each of them thinking the other had yet to notice it. Each of them reflecting on how they liked the change. Each of them wondering, what it could mean.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing progress.... and feelings?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I hope that you enjoy Chapter 5 :) This one is a bit longer than my other updates but I had a lot of content that I wanted to get through.  
> 2\. Thank you for giving this story a chance and reading it!  
> 3\. Also… some close quarters here am I right? (the smut cometh forth…)
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe. 
> 
> Feedback/comments are always appreciated. I read them all and use them to improve, I only ask that you please be constructive with your criticisms and kind with your words – after all, there are an infinite number of ways to tell a tale and this is just *one* story that I am writing for fun.
> 
> Updates on Sundays +/- a day.

**General Warnings**

explicit language, violence, dark themes, sad themes, PTSD like symptoms, blood and gore, bad situations, explicit smut (but not PWP and chapters with smut will be flagged so you know to watch for it and can skip over it if you prefer), mercy killings, potential character deaths, difficult/controversial topics, torture, interrogation and war. Please read the tags and please read individual chapter warnings

***********************************

Now that Hermione was able to move competently around on her own, albeit a bit slower, they resumed their usual schedule of night watches in 4-hour chunks and decided to stay at the new location for just a few days before continuing further South. They both agreed that it would be best to move again sooner than later to put additional distance between them and their first campsite post werewolf attack.

Over the next four days they got up early, had a quick snack then ran several large circles around the tent at a slow jog. Harry was able to lap Hermione twice due to her slow speed and she swatted at him in frustration each time yelling at him that it didn’t count because he hadn't been recently shredded by a werewolf. Harry laughed at her and pinched her sides lightly as he ran past yelling in return that _she was just upset because she was naturally slower_. After completing their jogging loops, they did several sets of sit ups, pushups and lunges to finish off the routine. Hermione doing far fewer than Harry, but still proud of herself for struggling through the routine.

On the third day, tired and sweaty but very pleased with themselves, they laid in the grass in front of the tent listening to the waves crashing against the rocky shore.

“One of these days,” Hermione said in pants. “I’m going to outrun you – just you wait.”

Harry laughed outright, his booming chuckle was genuine and loud. He reached his right arm over to her and gently grabbed her thigh, shaking it slightly.

“Not with these little chicken legs you’re not.” He laughed as she swatted his chest with an indignant sound. “Besides, I have infinitely more experience running than you do - I spent years running from Dudley and his gang. You’ve got nothing on me.”

Hermione laughed with a smile and rolled to her side, propping herself up on her elbow and grimacing as the wounds on her chest ached from the movement, but she bit it down to look over at Harry. She looked at his face, it was flushed red from their workout, but he was relaxed and calm – and he was looking at her with a hint of mischievous amusement in his eyes.

“Your cousin was a bit of an arse wasn’t he,” she said keeping her tone light as her free hand-picked at a piece of grass in the small space between them, but the undertones of a question were present.

Harry snorted lightly.

“Probably a bit of an understatement actually,” he said with a sigh, his eyes going to the sky. “He was a complete arse, terrible really – though, I’m not even sure I still resent him for it. I used to – but – he just didn’t know any better. He was a product of what his parents taught him and – I don’t know. It just was what it was.”

Hermione studied his face for a while as Harry watched a particularly fluffy cloud float by. Noting how he seemed a little lost in thought now.

“That’s um,” she paused when his eyes glanced back over to meet hers. “That’s a very mature way to look at it. You never really talked about the Dursleys very much, but from the small amount you have – it’s quite clear it wasn’t a good situation. I just always assumed you hated them.”

“Well,” he said letting out a slow sigh. “There wasn’t much to say – they were awful. But I guess I just got really tired of being so angry about it and resenting it all the time.”

He paused, the glint in his eyes deepening into something different – something more mature, more worn, something rooted in sadness.

“I’m not sure I have it in me to hate them anymore,” he said slowly as if saying it out loud made it a new realization for him. “I don’t like them. They’re not good people – but, after losing Sirius and now Dumbledore – I – I just don’t have the energy to hate people who were just too ignorant to know better, or who didn’t _want_ to know better. It’s just not worth it. They don’t deserve my time, so I’m not going to give it to them, I won’t waste my time on hating them.”

Hermione looked at Harry slightly stunned. While she completely agreed with what he was saying and was actually immensely impressed and proud of him for having such a mature point of view, she was surprised. The Dursleys had been horrible to Harry, treated him like how some wizards treat their house elves – and she was sure that Harry had held back some of the more dark and disturbing stories. She just hadn’t realized how much Harry had grown, how much losing Sirius and Dumbledore had affected him. She knew it took its toll physically and emotionally on him – She’d seen it first hand, but she hadn’t seen the effect it had on his maturity and the way he looked at the world.

She reached out the hand that was currently clutching the grass between them to grab his wrist and she gave him a squeeze.

“I know it doesn’t mean much coming from me Harry,” she said softly. “But I’m sorry – I’m sorry the Dursleys were so horrible to you. And – I’m proud of you, for choosing to see it the way you do. It’s so much easier to hate, Harry. So – I – I guess I just want you to know that I think it’s really great that you’re choosing to be the bigger person. To be better than what the Dursleys deserve and that you’re not going to waste your energy on some stupid arses.”

Harry smiled and let out a breath, his expression lightening. He flipped his hand over and intertwined their fingers before he pulled her hand up onto the center of his chest and pressed it to him.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he said sincerely, before a moment later his eyes glinted back to their original mischievous amusement. “But you’re just pumping my ego because you hope I’ll let you win the race tomorrow.”

Hermione made to pull her hand away to swat him, but he held his grip tight as he laughed at her annoyed expression.

“I am not!” she exclaimed struggling to get her hand free while he continued to chuckle. “I would never – here I am being sincere - trying to tell you that I’m bloody proud of you – you think I’m playing at something – and it’s not a race! It’s supposed to be exercise!”

Harry laughed louder at her fragmented response and let go of her hand, rolling away quickly to miss the swat she made at him.

“I’m going to shower first,” he said with a wink as he pulled himself quickly from the ground.

Hermione let out a sound of frustration and rolled back to look up at the sky.

“You’re a git Harry!” she yelled back at him, hearing him laugh in response as he entered the tent.

But as she laid on the grass looking at the clouds, she couldn’t help but smile. Sighing contently, she folded her arms behind her head as the ocean breeze rustled her hair. She was so proud of Harry and so impressed with his growth as a person – how he was truly maturing into a man, a man who knew where to focus his priorities and what things were actually important. Despite his teasing, she knew Harry was sincere in his thanks and she was happy that he felt comfortable enough to share his thoughts with her. She pulled her right hand up to her chest, the one that Harry had held against his own a moment ago and hummed softly.

After taking their turns in the shower they had breakfast and continued with their typical daily routine of reading, practicing small healing spells, discussing, planning and thinking – occasionally taking out Phineas to see if he was willing to give them any news.

By the end of the fourth day Hermione was feeling very pleased with her physical progress and they agreed to try and walk 35 kilometers South the next morning to set up a new camp. After pre-packing their belongings, they sat quietly outside near the edge of a small cliff that dropped down to the water. Harry had conjured a small fire in the jar that sat between them for warmth – having learnt the spell from Hermione two days before. They both stared out to the dark starry sky that hung above the roughly moving waves. The wind was picking up and with it the chill from the North was rolling in. It felt ominous and hinted of a storm in the near future. They sat quietly for quite some time before Harry spoke.

“On the nights when I wasn’t shut in my cupboard early, I used to lay out in the back garden at the Dursley’s in the summer and look at the stars as a kid,” Harry said, his eyes still on the sky. “And wish that someone would come and take me away from them.”

Hermione’s heart thudded to a stop in her chest and it took all of her self-control not to turn her head sharply toward Harry and exclaim, _you slept in a cupboard!?_ But she bit her lip, took a quiet breath and instead just tilted her head a fraction toward him to see his face. The way Harry had spoken and the expression on his face brought a stillness and a seriousness to the night’s air. Harry never spoke much about the Dursleys in the past, she only knew small details and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Harry’s childhood had been rough. Though, she certainly didn’t know that he’d slept in a cupboard. She tried to wrap her mind around this new piece of information, trying to imagine exactly what that had been like. She waited for him to continue, knowing that this was Harry choosing to share some very dark and very intimate details of his life before Hogwarts with her – details that he probably hadn’t shared with anyone.

“After the letters for Hogwarts started showing up they gave me Dudley’s second bedroom, the letters had been addressed to my cupboard so I think they were pretty embarrassed,” he clarified as if he wanted her to know that his situation did _improve_ at the Dursleys before he continued on to what he wanted to say. “But after finding out I was going to Hogwarts I was so happy. So happy that I finally would be able to leave them – to have a different life. Then when I met you and Ron, you two were the first friends I’d ever had.”

He picked up a small rock that was next to him, turning it over in his hand before throwing it gently out into the water. She wasn’t able to see it drop, as the darkness had crept in to the point that the ocean was just a pool of black and only the white caps were still visible.

“And then I met more people, and then I had Sirius,” he paused, his face scrunching and when he spoke next, she heard the slight break in his voice. “But after losing Sirius, after Cedric, after what Umbridge did to everyone, after Ron was almost poisoned and after Dumbledore – I – I’m so afraid that I’m going to lose everyone. It’s like the people I let myself get close to always suffer, they always get hurt. You with the werewolf – not to mention all the other ridiculous situations I’ve dragged you into.”

He had grabbed her hand, the one that was resting in between them in the grass and was squeezing it tightly. She wasn’t sure he even realized he’d done it.

“And I just – I know you’ll say this is ridiculous – but I feel like it’s my fault, because it is. I’m responsible for this – and the worst part,” his voice tightened and then he looked at her intently and Hermione saw the guilt that clung deeply within him.

“I’m still so happy that Hagrid came to give me my letter that day. I – I wouldn’t want to change that,” his voice quieted before he continued and she heard the pain in his voice, the guilt. “Is that selfish – does that make me a terrible person?”

His eyes searched her face. Looking for an answer and she felt her heart break for him. Harry – poor Harry. His life was riddled with despair and contained more sadness and more anguish than most people would ever experience in their whole lifetime – and he wasn’t even 18 yet.

It was like his words stitched together the painful picture of his life and made all of his behaviours, words and actions make sense. It gave the last 7 years new meaning. His deep and protective love of his friends – because he’d never had any. His drive to do what’s right – because he’d been wronged and treated poorly in his own life. His wonder of the magical wizarding world – because he’d been deprived in his childhood. His surprise when people included him or wanted to be near him – because he’d been rejected and excluded up until Hogwarts. His frustration, moody attitude and attempt to disconnect from those around him in the last two years – because he blamed himself for the deaths of those around him, for Cedric, for Sirius, for Dumbledore… so he had forced space and tried to alienate himself because he felt responsible. Because he felt guilty. Because he didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. And he had locked it all away inside himself, dealing with his anguish alone.

“Oh Harry,” she whispered, her voice tight. Gripping his hand back firmly. “Harry, no – no, no, it doesn’t make you selfish! These things – what’s happening – it was going to happen whether you came back to the wizarding world or not. And if you hadn’t – we would have been so much worse off – we would have lost so much more.”

She took his hand in both of hers and leaned toward him.

“Harry, I know you blame yourself, I know you feel responsible and I know you probably won’t fully believe what I’m saying – but what’s happened isn’t your fault Harry. You’re a symbol of _hope_ for people and you’ve done so, so much. You’ve saved people’s lives. You prevented _you know who_ from coming back several times,” Harry turned his face away scowling slightly and looking back out at the water. “I can’t even begin to understand what you’ve been through Harry, how you feel – how much pressure you must be under – but –“

She paused and reached her left hand forward to rest on his cheek and pulled gently, he allowed his head to turn back toward her. His eyes were bright in the small light from their blue flame.

“It’s not up to you to save the world alone,” she said quietly. Running her thumb over the bone of his cheek. “I don’t care what some stupid prophecy says. I’m going to help you. Everyone in the Order is going to help you.”

She looked at him, trying to convey her sincerity to him, trying to make him understand that she meant what she said. That she wouldn’t abandon him.

“You don’t have to _believe_ it Harry,” she said just above a whisper. “I just want you to _know_ it. You and I – we’re in this together, I’m _not_ going to leave you alone in this - not ever.”

Harry closed his eyes and breathed out, a line of tension in his forehead easing slightly but his shoulders were still tight. Harry opened his eyes to stare directly at her, they were glassy and the air around them was heavy.

“I know you won’t,” he said quietly and raised his own hand to cover the one that she had placed on his cheek before turning his head toward it and placing a chaste kiss on her palm.

Her heart fluttered lightly, but she ignored it, giving him her full attention. He lowered her hand and held it in his lap.

“I know,” he said again before sighing deeply as his shoulders dropped. “It’s just – hard not to feel responsible. I always will.”

She gave him a small smile and he returned it.

“Thank you, for listening Hermione,” he said softly.

“Always Harry,” she squeezed his hands tight – still holding the one on the ground she had been previously and the second in his lap where he’d placed it.

They sat for a while in silence, both hands still intertwined. Hermione looking out at the stars once more. The warmth of the blue flame warmed the space between them and despite the rolling waves the cliff felt quiet and the air around them felt thicker than it had a few minutes ago.

Hermione could feel Harry staring at her and it made her feel nervous – not uncomfortable – and not the normal typical nervous feelings she was familiar with. It was like a small ball of buzzing energy in her chest that tickled at her insides, like she was a kid again and had gotten _butterflies._

Taking a quiet breath, she slowly turned her head to look at Harry. Their eyes met and he held her gaze for several heartbeats before he tilted his head a fraction to the side. He was looking at her with almost a sort of curiosity.

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” he said gently, still holding her gaze.

Hermione felt her cheeks flush at the expression on his face and parted her mouth to respond, but then closed it. She didn’t know what to say. It hadn’t been a question, it was a statement, and the way he said it made the butterflies in her stomach buzz more noticeably. It was his eyes, something in his eyes that was pulling at her chest.

“We should turn in,” he said quietly, just above a whisper.

She nodded in return, but they both continued to sit, gripping hands and watching each other’s eyes, tracing each other’s faces in the flicker of the light as the ocean rolled on and the stars danced above them.

Hermione felt her stomach twist, but not from pain, not from nausea, not from the anguishing emotions and feelings that had recently been ruling her body. It was something different – something tight and warm. A nervousness rolled through her and she felt her breathing tighten. Time felt like it had slowed down and they’d slipped into a world of slow motion. She didn’t know what to do, what to say, she felt like she was searching Harry’s face and he was searching hers in return but neither of them had an answer for the intense atmosphere that had wrapped around them. The twisting feeling in her stomach was quickening and tightening and she was afraid of what would happen if she didn’t move.

Abruptly she looked away, hoping that the darkness would hide the blush she knew claimed her face.

“Yeah, we should turn in,” she echoed and ignored the slight waiver in her voice as she dropped Harry’s hands and turned to get up from the ground.

Harry stood with her, helping her up by the elbow even though she didn’t need the assistance anymore. Once standing, Hermione realized how close they were, the heat from Harry’s body was radiating off of him, his hand was still on her elbow, her left side just a breath away from his. Eyes level with his chest, she raised her head to look up at him and felt her heart thump louder when she looked in his eyes.

He was looking at her with a look that she had not seen before – a deep, careful, longing, if not slightly confused look, as if he was seeing her for the first time.

Her brain wasn’t working, her brain always worked, and it never shut up and it constantly analyzed – but staring up at his bright green eyes her breath caught in her throat and she couldn’t function. Her right hand tightened around the hem of her shirt, rolling the fabric gently between her fingers as time seemingly slowed down further.

Harry shifted, his head tilting ever so gently to the left and he slowly, painstakingly, began to lower his head towards hers. Hermione stiffened, her heart thudded, and her fingers stilled on the edge of her shirt. She didn’t blink, she didn’t look away – she just watched as his face slowly lowered towards her until – he stopped. He stopped a mere inch away from her face and she could feel his breath on her face. She wasn’t breathing, she’d stopped breathing the second he started lowering his head. Then, he turned his head and ghosted his lips gently across her cheek before placing a small but firm kiss on her cheek.

He lingered a moment before pulling away and she was certain he could hear the drumming of her erratic heartbeat.

“Good night Hermione,” he said in a whisper, before letting go of her elbow and turning to walk slowly toward the tent.

Hermione stood on spot, unmoving. Her body was a furnace, her cheeks were blazing, her heart was thrumming and her mind had all of a sudden started working again. _What the fuck just happened_ , she breathed internally. Her mind was racing, trying to calculate what had just happened, what it meant, and why her body was reacting the way that it was. Why did she feel so flustered? She’d kissed Harry on the cheek in fourth year and it had definitely NOT felt like this. She stayed rooted to her spot watching Harry’s back as he walked toward the tent. It was her turn for first watch tonight, but she stayed where she was instead of moving to her usual spot just a few feet from the tent.

A cool breeze from the ocean brushed past her face and she shivered, stepping toward the warmth from the blue flames that flickered by her feet. After Harry disappeared into the tent, she slowly reached down to pick up the fire and move toward her watch station, her steps slow and thoughtful. She didn’t know what to make of what just happened, or how it would affect her relationship with Harry going forward and she particularly didn’t know what to make about how she’d reacted to it – about how, despite the nervousness, she’d liked it.

-x-x-

When Harry came out to take her place for the last shift of their night’s watch he behaved normally, nothing between them was different. Hermione thanked him and gratefully went inside to grab a quick 4 hours of sleep.

The next morning they ate breakfast in their usual fashion and looked at the map that Hermione had of the coast line. They agreed that they should try to get to a small cove about 35 kilometers to the South as the winds had picked up and threatened upcoming bad weather. Quickly they disassembled the tent and then began walking South at a brisk pace, stopping twice for a quick break, snacks and water.

Eight and a half hours later, the wind was raging, the sky was dark and the ocean was violent – but they’d reached their destination. Approaching the small cove, they spotted a highly set cave. It looked a little ominous, but thankfully, it was uninhabited so they decided to set the tent up inside to get additional shelter from the storm. Thunder rumbled in the distance and Hermione saw a flash of lightning over the water. Harry looked at her knowingly and went out to set the wards, enchantments and alarms while Hermione finished setting up the tent. By the time Harry returned it had started to spit and Hermione was placing sticking charms on the tent pegs to ensure that they did not get ripped from the ground in the violent gusting winds that were rolling off the ocean.

Harry helped her with the last two pegs and then they quickly got inside as the downpour hit, thankful for the extra shelter offered by the small cave. After eating a quick dinner, they both dropped exhausted into the armchairs in the center room. Hermione had been worried that the _event_ from the night before would cause stress or add awkwardness to their dynamic – but it hadn’t. There was no tension in the room and Harry was – just Harry, his normal self. The only thing different was the thoughts that now filled Hermione’s head when she tried to sort out what it meant and how she felt about it. But seeing Harry’s calm relaxing demeaner put her at ease. That night they both agreed to sleep a full night as Harry had added two alarm circles at 100 and 300 meters out from their tent – and given the storm, it was unlikely that anyone would be out and about.

Hermione made for her bunk, having just washed her face and brushed her teeth. Harry bid her goodnight and she returned the gesture kindly before crawling into bed and rolling over to face the tent wall. The rain pounded outside and the wind hammered the fabric of the tent loudly. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her mind, tried to steady the low simmering guilt that seemed to be building throughout the day. With everything that had been going on sometimes it felt like she couldn’t keep track of everything and tonight her brain finally circled in on the main reason for her unease with the previous night’s _events_.

Ginny.

Hermione couldn’t shake the guilt she harboured for the feelings that had been rolling through her. Yes, Harry and Ginny had broken up at the end of the previous school term – but Ginny was her friend and she felt awful about whatever it was that had been going on between her and Harry. Even though, to be fair – _nothing_ had actually happened between them and she didn’t even know if the _nothing_ that had happened meant anything – she still couldn’t help but feel guilty.

Despite her angst and unease of the situation at hand, sleep claimed her quickly, exhausted from the eight and a half hours walk during the day.

-x-x-

The next few days proceeded per their usual schedule, except that the weather was absolutely horrendous, and it limited them to their tent the majority of the time. They got creative with their exercise routine and jogged on spot in the tent, did jumping jacks, burpees, and stretches since they were not able to run outside.

Hermione taught Harry _ferula_ , and _anapneo_ so that he would be able to bandage or splint broken bones and prevent someone from choking.

Harry showed Hermione more details on the shielding charm and she helped him refine his wand movements based on the description in the book. She agreed to help him try it after they spent a little more time researching it – nervous that they might cause themselves injury if they cast it incorrectly. Harry agreed and pulled another text from her bag to continue his reading.

Hermione found an interesting chapter in her book on ‘bonding’ magic and was convinced it could be helpful with the werewolf mystery. She told Harry about it, telling him her suspicions – that someone may have banded the werewolf for ‘use’ and implemented some kind of a bonding mechanism. It was dark magic and may have even involved blood magic. Harry frowned at this but agreed and asked her to keep him updated on what she found as she continued her research.

After 5 days, the weather hadn’t let up, the rain continued to pour and the wind continued to ravage the area. After a particularly gruelling work out – both of them being a little tense from being trapped inside the tent for days had gone extra hard in their workout routine – Hermione was showering and pondering the still occurring small and somewhat intimate touches that happened between her and Harry. The water from the shower was hot and it helped to work out the knots in her tight muscles.

Her hands ran over the scars on her chest and she didn’t flinch, she’d finally gotten used to the touch of them against her fingers. She hated it, resented the unpleasantness of her now rough, bumpy and hideously discoloured skin – but it no longer made her feel sick to her stomach. As she stepped from the shower and saw her full reflection, she reacted the same way that she did every time. She frowned. And then covered herself with a long sleeve high necked shirt to hide any view of the scars. She was sad to admit that she’d transfigured a good number of her shirts to have a much higher neck. She never had revealing clothes to start with, but her top scar started just above her left collar bone – so anything other than a turtle neck, or high-necked shirt showed the tip of the scar. This time she opted for her newly transfigured deep red sweater and a pair of comfortable jeans.

After trying to do something with her hair – which was essentially leaving it as is but using a small clip to keep it from falling in her face, she made her way out to the kitchen to find Harry seated at the kitchen table staring intently at the Marauder’s Map. Going over to join him at the table she noticed that he was staring at the Gryffindor Tower, and particularly at Ginny’s name.

Hermione slowed as she approached and felt a small part of her sadden at the sight – as guilt hit her hard in the stomach. Trying to swallow it down, she made for the seat opposite Harry.

“Hey,” she said softly, taking her seat.

Harry jolted slightly and he looked up at her, obviously he had been lost in thought and hadn’t heard her approach.

“Hey,” he said, more brightly than she expected. “Good shower?”

She snorted and smiled at him.

“Yeah, all clean now.” She looked down at the map and saw Ginny’s feet circling in the common room near Neville’s. “You, um – you must miss her.”

Her voice was quiet, and she tried to keep the tone light and unquestioning.

“Yeah, of course,” Harry said sadly as he looked back at the map. “I miss all of them – I hope they’re okay.”

“I know,” Hermione said slowly, making sure to keep her hands to herself and resisting the urge to reach out and grab his hand. “I’m sorry that you haven’t been able to see her.”

Her words were sincere. Hermione truly meant it. She truly felt awful that Harry and Ginny’s relationship was tainted by the ongoing situation with Voldemort and that it had ended so that Harry could go galivanting around to try and save the world. They had seemed to get along really well, and it was just another reason why this war was absolute shit. It destroyed everything good and ripped people apart.

“So am I,” he said raising his eyes to meet hers. “I know you must miss her too, and Neville, and Luna and everyone else.”

Hermione’s mind started calculating again – Harry truly seemed sad that he was separated from Ginny, but it was not with the same feel she had expected. He seemed equally sad to be away from everyone else. Harry must have seen the confusion on her face, he mirrored it only briefly until his own brain realized what she was confused about.

“Oh,” Harry said, almost somewhat sheepishly as a blush formed on his face and he started to get awkward. “I forgot you didn’t – um, I miss her yes – but um – Ginny and I – we uh – well we’re not together anymore.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said slowly as she looked at him with genuine curiosity but tried to seem nonchalant in her question. “but – I assumed you two were going to – you know – get back together when all of this was over.”

Harry shifted awkwardly in his seat, his eyes glanced nervously down to the map as if it could hear the conversation.

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly. “About that.”

Hermione sat up straighter at his response and quirked an eyebrow at his behavior, completely thrown by the tone he had just emanated. She had thought that he still loved Ginny, that they would be together when the war was over – but based on Harry posture, tone and awkward expressions she felt like she was missing half of a story that she didn’t know existed.

Harry scratched the back of his head awkwardly while avoiding her eyes.

“It’s um, it’s not really my place to say,” he said finally looking her in the eyes. “But – it’s not like that. We aren’t like that.”

Hermione shifted and propped her head up on her hand, crossing her legs under the table and tilting her head.

“Harry, I don’t understand,” she said. Not annoyed, just genuinely confused. “What do you mean it’s not your place?”

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair and then leaned on the table with both elbows before speaking.

“Look, I don’t think it’s a big deal and I fully support it but – “ Harry looked a her intently. “But I need you to promise not to talk about this with anyone. It’s Ginny’s business and she will tell people when she’s comfortable. It’s not my place to tell anyone, but I’ll tell you – only because I know that Ginny trusts you and she already told me why she hasn’t told you yet, but that she was planning to before we left, she just ran out of time.”

“Of course, I won’t say anything Harry,” Hermione nodded, unsure of where this conversation was going.

“Hermione – Ginny is gay,” he said looking her straight in the eyes. “And our break-up was completely mutual.”

Hermione sat quiet. Floored by what Harry had said – not because she gave a crap about Ginny being gay, she didn’t care about that, but because she hadn’t known and that Ginny hadn’t told her. Obviously, Ginny didn’t owe her anything, she wasn’t obligated to explain herself to anyone. Hermione was just surprised was all.

“W-what?” she asked, her mouth had been hanging open. “I – I didn’t know.”

“I know,” Harry smiled sheepishly, giving her a small almost sympathetic smile. “She was nervous to tell you.”

“Why would she be nervous to tell me? You know that I support Ginny, that I support the LGBT community and gay rights and gay people – she knows that!”

“Yeah she does,” Harry patted her hand gently before grabbing for his glass of water. “She was nervous because she didn’t want you to feel awkward around her. And because she’s been having a bit of a time adjusting to the realization herself.”

Harry then proceeded to tell Hermione what had actually happened in 6th year. How Harry upon first kissing Ginny had felt so proud and so excited. How Ginny had been so thrilled to finally be with the ‘ _love of her life_ ’ and the one man she thought she was destined to be with. Except that after a few weeks of snogging and trying to feel comfortable with each other they both started to realize that they weren’t.

Harry had assumed that he was attracted to Ginny because he had strong feelings for her, he thought that he was in _love_ with Ginny because he cared for her deeply. But after a few weeks together he started to realize that it felt awkward and wrong and frankly – he wasn’t attracted to her in that way. Harry _did_ care deeply for Ginny – and he always would – but the truth was that he cared for her like a sister. The same way that he cared for Ron and loved Fred and George, that was how he cared for Ginny. He was protective of her because she was his family, because she was his sister. He realized that he’d confused his love of her as romantic love and then started to worry about what to do next.

Ginny, well Ginny had admitted to him that she was never attracted to any men in the whole of her life. She was obsessed with Harry from a young age and that obsession grew into an infatuation that she had assumed was romantic. She thought that the reason why she wasn’t attracted to Dean Thomas was because she was only in love with Harry. She thought that the reason why she didn’t feel anything when Dean kissed her or ran his hands over her body was because she didn’t actually care for Dean and was really only dating him to make Harry notice her.

But to her surprise, she found that nothing changed when she was with Harry. She cared about him and treasured him, and she wanted to feel the way you were _supposed_ to feel when he kissed her. But she didn’t. Once the excitement of finally _getting_ Harry wore off, she was left with the same empty feeling she'd had before.

After lamenting over it for weeks and getting some help from friends, Ginny finally realized that she was gay and that was why she never felt like her relationships fit – why she was never interested in any of the guys around her. She confronted Harry about it and Harry had confessed that he did not have romantic feelings for Ginny either and that he wanted her to be happy and he wanted to remain her friend. They were both relieved to find that the other had been unsure about the relationship and felt awkward being together.

At Ginny’s request, Harry agreed to keep up the façade of dating while she sorted through her feelings. She was nervous about telling her family, about her friends finding out and was still trying to wrap her head around her new self-discovery. Breaking up before Harry left to go hunt for Horcruxes was easy, and actually ended up being a good way to establish their break up to friends and family without raising any eyebrows. Their plan had been that during Harry’s time away Ginny would be able to re-establish herself as the women she wanted to be, become comfortable with herself and start telling her family when and if she wanted to.

Harry finished talking and stared at Hermione, waiting for her to respond.

“Wow,” Hermione said softly, her eyes concerned. “I can’t even imagine what’s going through her head, realizing that, the war, worrying about telling people – oh Ginny.”

She shook her head and lowered it into both of her hands.

“She shouldn’t be worried about what people think, her friends and family will support her – but I know that’s easier to say than to be the person who’s experiencing it,” she looked up at Harry and fixed him with an amazed stare. “You’re a great person Harry, to do what you did, to keep her trust and be there for her. I just hope Ginny knows that I wouldn’t ever feel awkward around her, that this would never change anything between us.”

She sighed, running a hand through her own hair.

“I’m so happy for her though,” as a genuine smile broke out across her lips. “I’m so glad that she’s realized who she is so she can be happy and find whoever it is that she truly loves – and didn’t get stuck in a relationship with a guy because that’s what she thinks she should do or because she never realized her true feelings and why things didn’t feel right for her.”

She sat back and Harry smiled at her.

“Me too,” he said with an honest smile. “She’s much happier now and has actually been sort of seeing someone since our break-up. I think that’s helped.”

“Well I can’t wait to meet her,” Hermione beamed. “If and whenever she is ready to share. I won’t say a thing Harry – I promise, I won’t say anything, and I will wait for her to feel comfortable enough to tell me herself.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said, and he got up to grab some snacks. “I know she won’t mind that I told you – she wanted to tell you after the wedding before we left so that you’d know. But given what happened and how we left – there wasn’t exactly time. I feel guilty telling you without her direct permission though – I’ll be sure to tell her I told you when we see her next.”

Hermione smiled at him as he handed her an apple.

“You’re a good friend Harry,” she took a bite of the apple munching with a smile as she thought about her friend finally finding her happiness. It made her heart explode with joy.

“It wasn’t anything Hermione,” he smiled, tossing his own apple up and catching it quickly. “She deserves to be happy and I’m glad that she’s happy now, that she’s found the sense of belonging that she’d been missing.”

Hermione remembered the conversations she’d had with Ginny about Harry – how desperate Ginny was to get Harry’s attention, to be with him. It made sense – it really did. Her desperation was linked to her need for acceptance and her trying to find her place when she felt like she didn’t belong. Always being worried about why she wasn’t _normal_ and worrying about why she wasn’t interested in the boys like female classmates were. Thinking that Harry was the solution, that the only reason why things didn’t feel right with Dean or why she wasn’t attracted to any other men being because she was only attracted to Harry.

Hermione slowly munched her apple, so happy that Ginny and Harry had handled their relationship well – so happy that Ginny was enroute to happiness, toward a relationship where she actually _felt_ something and could feel like she belonged.

After finishing their snacks they both settled down in the armchairs to read, and Hermione noticed that the guilt she’d been carrying about the dynamic between her and Harry had started to lift from her shoulders. She turned the page of her book to read further on the bonding magic she suspected someone had used to band the werewolf but stopped to eye Harry over the top of her book. His eyes were focused intently on the page in front of him, his hand resting in his messy hair while he read. She smiled, happy to be here with him – grateful to have him in her life. A slight blush dusting her cheeks when she recalled the closeness between them nights before and her heart beat increased. She looked back to her page. She was happy and for the first time in a long time, optimistic.


	6. Chapter Six: Ginny’s Story – Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our first look at Ginny and her story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. EARLY UPDATE - tomorrow is too busy so I uploaded tonight. Enjoy!  
> 2\. I hope you enjoy this bonus Chapter 6 :)   
> 3\. This chapter is technically not required in order to follow the story that I am telling about Harry and Hermione – it is a flashback to 6th year so you can skip it if you’d like to.  
> 4\. That said, I thought writing this chapter was important to add some depth and additional background to Harry and Ginny’s relationship. I hope to make this story more believable by showing Ginny’s experience - I didn’t want my story to be all ‘oh Ginny is conveniently just gay, so she’s out of the way’. I want it to be believable because I genuinely believe that this could have happened in canon. I wanted to give some substance to my basis and give some love to Ginny (who honestly I thought was a good character -but I just felt like she was massively under developed in canon). Pick-up point is page 499 in HBP.
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe. I own nothing but the inserted original characters/plot concepts. I make no money on this. This is simply a FAN based work.
> 
> Feedback/comments are always appreciated. I read them all and use them to improve, I only ask that you please be constructive with your criticisms and kind with your words – after all, there are an infinite number of ways to tell a tale and this is just *one* story that I am writing for fun.
> 
> Updates Sundays +/- a day.

**General Warnings**

explicit language, violence, dark themes, sad themes, PTSD like symptoms, blood and gore, bad situations, explicit smut (but not PWP and chapters with smut will be flagged so you know to watch for it and can skip over it if you prefer), mercy killings, potential character deaths, difficult/controversial topics, torture, interrogation and war. Please read the tags and please read individual chapter warnings.

_*******************************************_

_Harry looked around; there was Ginny running towards him; she had a hard, blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about he fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her._

Ginny’s heart exploded, her mind was going a thousand miles a minute – Harry Potter had just kissed her. HARRY POTTER. The boy she had loved for so, so long. The only one she’d ever been interested in had finally _seen_ her and he had now wrapped his hands around her waist and was holding her closely.

When they broke apart and she heard the whooping shouts of her peers in the common room around them and she turned to see the confused look on her brother’s face. She smirked – the idiot had never clued in how she felt about Harry, he just assumed that she was infatuated with him in a harmless way. But when Ron tilted his head in acceptance to Harry she beamed.

_The creature in his chest roaring in triumph, Harry grinned down at Ginny and gestured wordlessly out the portrait hole._

Taking Harry’s hand she led him out of the portrait hole and down to the school grounds. They spent the next several hours walking, talking, holding hands and snogging their faces off. Her heart was racing as the excitement coursed through her. She couldn’t believe that this was happening, it was surreal. Between winning the Quidditch match and now sitting on a bench and kissing the one man she knew she was meant to be with – it was a dream come true.

Harry was telling her about how he’d noticed her a little while ago and he was tracing his fingers over the back of her hand. She smiled at him as she heard the words, in complete disbelief to find that he’d felt the same way as her for a while. She told him that Dean was just a way to get him to notice her and that she never really cared for him in that way – she admitted that she felt guilty about it.

When it was so dark that they could hardly see, they finally made their way up to the Gryffindor tower to head to bed – Harry kissing her gently but firmly before going to his own room. Ginny grinned beneath his lips. She was fairly certain that this was the happiest she had ever been.

That night when she laid in bed, her heart fluttered at the thought of having what she wanted, _finally_. Things were starting to look up, and for once things were starting to make sense. Over the course of her time at Hogwarts she had spent hours each week laying in this very bed wondering what was wrong with her. Growing up she’d never had much interest in the boys around her – mostly because she thought that they were all stupid and annoying – but she just didn’t understand why all her female friends found them so interesting.

She loved having boys as friends, they were funny, energetic and far more fun to play with than several of the girls that her mother had introduced her to as a kid. Except perhaps for Rosa, Ginny had always liked Rosa very much. She was kind, thoughtful, beautiful and caring – but otherwise speaking she’d preferred having boys for friends and she never found them attractive in any other way.

When she met Harry Potter she’d been star-struck, he was a legend, and Ginny was positively fascinated by him. She’d read everything that she could about him and asked her mom a bunch of questions. The idea of knowing him or being friends with him was a dream. So, when she found out that her brother Ron had somehow managed to make friends with Harry she was beyond excited.

Once she arrived at Hogwarts, nothing changed. She still didn’t find the boys overly interesting, except to hang out with them or get up to no good with them around the castle –she always felt awkward sitting on her dormitory bed while the girls she shared it with talked about who was cute. When asked by Maisey, a petite and pretty blonde girl she shared her dorm with, who she liked Ginny had panicked and blurted out Harry’s name. The girls accepted her answer and then cooed over how handsome he was and how pretty his eyes were. Ginny supposed that she agreed with them – he did have nice eyes. It was after that that Ginny started to think of her interest in Harry as romantic – it made sense didn’t it? That would explain why she was so interested in him after all, right?

So, over the next couple of years she focused on all the qualities and things about Harry’s appearance and personality that she liked and started to subconsciously associate them with _liking_ him. As time went on though, Harry didn’t seem to pay her any mind – she was just Ron’s little sister. It made her nervous around him and she started to get worried that she would never be able to have the type of relationship that her dormmates often talked of – that she might not ever get to be with the one boy she was destined to be with. The _only_ boy she’d ever felt anything for. She confided in Hermione in her fourth year – looking for guidance and hoping that she might be able to give her some kind of insight as to what to do. Despite Hermione being annoyingly proper and an absolute bore at times with her book references – she was a brilliant witch and Ginny appreciated her feedback. Hermione had told her to relax, to just be herself and that Harry would notice her once she was more comfortable around him. She suggested that she try dating other people and just become comfortable with herself while she waited.

Ginny did just that. She forced herself to calm down around Harry and just be herself. She forced herself not to stress over the fact that she felt like she would be royally fucked if Harry never noticed her, doomed to be alone forever. And she tried dating other people to help appear more normal and calm, and like she wasn’t hanging her entire future on Harry’s acceptance.

Dating Dean had been excruciating though, and to be honest she felt a decent amount of guilt for doing it. He was an okay kisser, she guessed. But every time he leaned in to kiss her, her stomach knotted – and not in the romantic, exciting way that Maisey had described she felt when she kissed her boyfriend. Snogging Dean made her feel uneasy, it made her anxious and it made her feel slightly dirty, like she was doing something wrong – doing something she knew that she didn’t really want to do. Dean was nice, and funny and a good person – Ginny _did_ like him, she just didn’t find him attractive in that way and didn’t want him to touch her. His hands on her body just made her uncomfortable and she did not see the appeal of his clumsy hands coping a feel of her breasts.

In their make-out sessions she often found her mind wandering to other things. Thinking about Harry, about Dumbledore’s army, about a new spell she wanted to try – the snogging was boring and unexciting and when she crawled into bed each night, she felt a bit sick with herself. Like something wasn’t right and her body was rejecting the contact. The only thing that gave her any semblance of calm was thinking about how if Harry ever did notice her, things would be different. She’d feel the heat that Maisey described, the tightening in your stomach and the sense of urgency that made you want to snog your boyfriend’s face off for hours.

She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. Things were good now, they would be good. Ginny _finally_ had Harry – she was finally with the only person she liked. She would be normal now, she’d be able to fit in with the rest of her friends and finally feel that thrill of excitement that they often talked about. The sick and wrong feelings would go away and she would be engaged, present and wanting. Turning over Ginny went to bed, excited for the new day.

-x-x-

Over the next few days the excitement continued, people were talking and gossiping about them. Ginny was with Harry every moment she could be and the two of them were happy. They laughed about the gossip, Ginny found it outrageous that somehow, they were more interesting than the dementor attacks that were on-going, and she smirked any time Ron looked awkward or uncomfortable with them together. _Serves him right after all the disgusting snogging he’d been up to with Lavender,_ she thought. Doubled over by the fact that he was a moron not to notice how it upset Hermione.

One afternoon when she went to go meet Harry outside for a walk, she bumped into Susan Bones – literally – and Susan’s books fell to the floor.

“Oh shit,” Ginny said as she quickly bent over to help her pick up the books. “I’m so sorry Susan, I wasn’t even paying attention.”

Susan smiled back at her as she collected a few papers that had come loose from the pages of a book she had been carrying.

“That’s okay Ginny,” she smiled genuinely. “I haven’t seen you in a while – it’s not like the Dumbledore’s Army days anymore, how have you been?”

“I’ve been well,” Ginny grinned. She had always liked Susan, she was very kind, pretty and had a laugh like music. “How about you, are you still keeping up with your defence practice?”

“Yeah, I am!” Susan grabbed the last paper and slowly started to stand up. “I actually practice sometimes with some of my dormmates or Luna. But otherwise I’ve mostly been trying to prepare for end of term – I know it’s early – but I’ve always struggled with exams, so this year I want to be prepared.”

“That makes all of these books make sense then,” Ginny said with a cheeky smile.

Ginny looked Susan up and down, now standing just an inch or two taller than her, the change in Susan was incredible. Though a year older than Ginny, she’d met Susan through Hermione. Susan had always been a very insecure and very shy girl – Ginny had noticed it almost immediately when she met her in first year. As the years went on Susan grew taller and started to come out of her shell – it turned out she was a very caring person and she had a good sense of humour that Ginny always appreciated. After joining Dumbledore’s Army in her 5th year Susan had really come into her own. No longer harbouring the baby fat in her cheeks that she used to back in second year, Susan had grown out of her awkward duck footedness into a lean girl with bright honey-coloured eyes and wavy strawberry blonde hair that always seemed to shine in the sunlight. She stood with poise and confidence she never used to have and seemed much more confident in herself that most of the other girls her age.

Susan looked at Ginny, a small and curious smile forming at the corner of her lips.

“I uh – I heard you and Harry are dating now.” Her voice had quirked up at the end and Ginny grinned wider in confirmation.

“Yeah, we got together just a few days ago.”

“That’s great!” Susan exclaimed, a full smile forming on her lips and she looked at Ginny warmly. “Harry is a very lucky man.”

She extended her hand out toward Ginny, palm open, with an expectant look in her eyes.

Ginny’s eyebrow quirked up and she pondered the statement briefly. _Well that’s different?_ she thought to herself. Usually when her female classmates asked her about Harry, they always mentioned how lucky she was to be with him – not the other way around. She stared down at Susan’s open palm dumbly then back up at her face.

Susan chuckled gently and her eyes crinkled as her smile widened.

“My notes?” she said gently, gesturing with her head down to Ginny’s hands which held a cluster of papers and books that she’d gathered from the floor.

“Oh!” said Ginny, her face flushing as she started to feel a bit stupid. “Sorry, apparently my brain isn’t working today, here.”

She extended her hand toward Susan’s and gave her the papers and books, their fingers brushed gently as Susan collected them and Ginny’s heart fluttered.

“Thanks!” said Susan, as she tucked the papers under her arm. “Hey, I’ve got to get to the library to meet up with someone – but – I’ll see you around okay Ginny?”

With that Susan smiled one last time and headed off to the library. Ginny stared after her shouting out a much-delayed goodbye before looking down at her hand.

 _What the fuck?_ She thought as her heart still raced. She shook her head to clear whatever was happening to her body. She hoped it was just a case of being excited to go see Harry or being flustered about looking like an idiot in front of Susan – and not that she was coming down with some sort of illness. That was the absolute LAST thing that she needed. Having attempted to shake the feeling from her body she quickly walked out the main steps to go greet Harry.

As she approached Harry, they grabbed hands before heading down toward the lake. Ginny smiled as she looked up at him, but it faltered a fraction when she realized that her heart was no longer thrumming in her chest and she felt particularly calm around Harry. She frowned inwardly, maybe she _was_ coming down with something – perhaps she should stop by the Hospital Wing afterwards to get some Pepperup potion just in case.

-x-x-

Over the next few days Ginny split her time between classes, spending time with her friends, studying, and spending time with Harry. But as each day passed, she started to get more and more concerned. Her classes were going fine, her friends were well and her exam prep was going great thanks to Hermione’s help – damn that witch could build a study guide!

The problem was with Harry.

Actually, the problem _wasn’t_ Harry, there was nothing _wrong_ with Harry, he was a perfect gentleman – in fact he was everything that she thought he would be. Kind, caring, funny, smart and he never treated her like she needed help. So she couldn’t figure out why the initial excitement that had coursed through her body when Harry first kissed her seemed to have disappeared completely. She still loved Harry, she knew that she did – she cared so deeply for him and always wanted to make sure that he was safe. But when he kissed her now, she felt nothing… just like before. She was starting to get more and more concerned as each day passed. She’d been to Madam Pomfrey twice in the last week for Pepperup potion and it didn’t seem to do anything to shake this deeply rooted anxiety that gripped her chest.

Yesterday, when her and Harry were snogging by the lake under the privacy of a large tree he’d gently traced his hand up her side and grazed under her breast before running a thumb over her – and she felt nothing. No excitement, no build, just that familiar blank feeling she’d grown accustomed to when dating Dean, and her heart plummeting. She tensed as the anxiety hit her. Harry withdrew his hand and they ended up just sitting in each other’s arms in silence staring at the lake. She’d slept like shit that night as a result, playing the scene over and over in her head, knowing that Harry had pulled his hand away when he felt her tense and she worried what he might be thinking.

She’d tossed and turned all night as the anxiety turned to a familiar sick feeling. _What the fuck is wrong with me_ coursed through her head the remainder of the night as quiet hot tears escaped the corner of her eyes. She wiped the forearm of her pajama shirt across her eyes, willing the tears to stop while hoping that her dormmates wouldn’t hear the small sniffle that escaped her – she couldn’t stomach the thought of having to come up with an excuse for why she was crying behind her bed curtains at 3 am.

 _How is this happening to me_ , she mourned internally as she stared up at the canopy above her. She had Harry, the only guy she’d ever loved – the only guy she’d ever actually wanted, the missing piece to her puzzle of why she never felt like she fit in. Closing her eyes, she willed her mind to still and begged for sleep to come.

The next day Ginny sat at the bottom step of a lone tower in the castle, miserable, head in her hands while a light spring breeze blew in through the open window and mingled with her hair. She’d been there for over an hour, this was the spot she came to when she needed to think, when she needed answers – but today she found none. She was too overwhelmed with exhaustion and dreading what was going to happen. _Am I just incapable of feeling feelings like that?_ She pondered as she sunk her head even lower into her hands.

The sound of light footsteps coming down the stairs behind her made her raise her head, and she turned to look behind her only to see Luna descending the stairs. 

“Oh, hello Ginny,” Luna said in her traditional whimsical voice and sounding a thousand miles away.

“Hey Luna,” she said softly as she turned her head back around and propped it up in her hand.

“You seem like you’ve got something important on your mind,” Luna said as she slowed her steps and stood next to Ginny.

“You could say that,” Ginny spit out, her head ached from lack of sleep and she didn’t really feel like having a conversation with anyone right now.

Luna seemed unfazed by Ginny’s tone, either having not registered it, or having decided it wasn’t directed at her. She looked thoughtfully at Ginny for a moment before sitting down next to her, propping her head on her hand in a similar fashion.

“Anything I can help with?” she asked lightly, her face sincere and full of kindness.

Ginny sighed, she shouldn’t have snapped out her words at Luna like that, she didn’t deserve it and she was too bloody nice to call Ginny out on her attitude. As proven by Luna’s willingness to sit down next to her and offer help – not taking Ginny’s venom personally.

“Not unless you can explain why I’m a broken person,” Ginny said with sarcasm, but she turned her head toward Luna and offered her a small smile.

Luna’s head tilted to the side as she looked over Ginny’s face curiously.

“You don’t look like a broken person to me Ginny,” her eyes had glanced over Ginny’s full form before settling on her eyes. “Tired maybe, and perhaps a bit confused, but you certainly don’t look broken.”

Ginny snorted quietly and tucked her hair behind her ears, shaking her head before looking back at Luna.

“That’s because I’m broken on the inside Luna,” she said in a much softer voice than she’d intended. A much sadder one, and she winced at the small break she heard. “My emotions don’t seem to work the way they’re supposed to. I -”

She grimaced sadly at Luna before she continued.

“I’m not feeling how I thought I would – how I’m supposed to.”

“What is it that you’re not feeling?” Luna asked quietly.

Ginny rolled her eyes, frustrated that she was even having this conversation. She liked Luna, but getting advice from her felt like a waste of time.

“I’m not feeling anything!” she bit out angrily, voice raised and annoyed as a hot tear fell down her cheek. “It’s like I’m emotionally blunted. I thought I’d feel happy, I’d feel excited, that I – that I would feel some kind of pull, some kind of want. _Anything_. But I just feel fucking nothing – just like before. This was supposed to be different.”

Ginny looked down at her hands, angry with herself for yelling, angry with herself for being a broken emotionally blunted person. She could feel Luna looking at her with that misty yet piercing gaze she had, humming quietly as she pondered Ginny’s words. They sat quietly for several minutes before Luna broke the silence.

“Have you considered that perhaps you feel how you feel, and that maybe your perception of what you’re supposed to feel is what’s really broken?” Luna’s eyebrow was quirked slightly when Ginny looked up at her. “It seems like your emotions are working just fine to me.”

Ginny stared at her, not really sure what to say. Luna always said loony things – that’s why she had gotten the nickname that she had. _What the fuck does my perception being broken even mean?_ The confusion must have been evident on her face because Luna smiled gently at her before squeezing her arm and standing up.

“I think that if you listen to your heart, you’ll find that your emotions have always been working just fine,” she smiled again as she looked down at Ginny. “Maybe you just haven’t been listening to them, maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong places for them.” 

She reached down toward Ginny’s hand.

“Let’s go to the kitchens,” she said softly. “A cup of tea brewed with lavender and some dark chocolate will help clear your head.”

Ginny stared up at Luna, her mouth hanging open and her emotions a mess – but she raised her hand slowly anyways and Luna took it gently, Ginny smiled. They walked in silence down to the kitchens to get their tea with lavender and dark chocolate. Ginny pondered the words that Luna had spoke. They didn’t really make sense, but yet she couldn’t help but feel like they resonated with a part of her deep down. She didn’t understand what to make of it, but she really appreciated Luna’s friendship and how she never judged anyone – always just accepting people for who they are. She spent an hour with Luna in the kitchen’s drinking their tea – which tasted… interesting, and they talked casually about exams, wrackspurts and their favourite summertime smells.

-x-x-

Harry sat in the armchair in the Gryfindor tower with Hermione and Ron, thankful that Ron had finally shut up so that he could stare at his book in peace and pretend to be reading while his mind raced through the last two weeks with Ginny. A deep weight sat on his chest which made it hard for him to breathe and function normally. He loved Ginny, he knew that he did, but he couldn’t help but shake this lingering feeling of _wrongness_ he had when he was with her.

At first he had blamed it on being unsure of Ron’s acceptance of their relationship, after all Ginny was Ron’s baby sister and Ron was his best friend. But as each day passed Ron seemed more and more comfortable with them together – while Harry felt less and less okay with it. When they had first kissed in the common room, he was so proud and so excited to finally have Ginny. But as the days passed, the feeling started to fade and he began to feel uncomfortable with the intimacy between them.

Harry had wondered if perhaps his feelings of discomfort were because he was just nervous about being physically close with Ginny, that he’d been longing for it for so long that he’d built it up in his head and his nerves were getting the best of him – that he was just stressing out and getting stuck in his head about it. So, a few days ago when they had been down by the lake snogging, he thought that he would try to push his comfort level by touching her more intimately. Bite the bullet so to speak.

But as he kissed Ginny and started to move his hand up her side it started to tremble and a knot formed in the pit of his stomach. He pushed forward, bringing his hand up under her breast and then brushed his thumb over her. His hand jerked ever so slightly and he felt the knot in his stomach twist into a sick feeling. Ginny stiffened and he panicked, thinking that she had felt the tremble in his hand and the jerk after he’d touched her. They ended up just sitting by the lake quietly in each other’s arms while Harry’s head spun.

He felt awkward, uncomfortable and wrong. It had been like touching a friend, a sister, and that thought made him want to gag. He didn’t know what to do. Ginny was now his girlfriend, he cared for her, he loved her – but he didn’t think it was in the way that he was supposed to. The way that he had thought that he did. And now, he felt trapped and terrified. He couldn’t exactly break up with his best friend’s little sister and say _‘oh so sorry, my bad, I made a mistake – I actually don’t like you… like that…’_. That thought made him about as sick as the thought of staying with her and forever feeling like he was groping at his sister. He knew that Ginny cared for him – she would do anything for him, and he didn’t want to hurt her. But he knew that he couldn’t stay either. _Fuck this is a mess,_ he thought.

-x-x-

Ginny sat in the quiet back corner of the library, it was Saturday and Harry was currently serving detention with Snape. She’d piled several large volumes to her left to block her view of the library aisle and she was hoping that they would send the _fuck off_ vibe that she was currently feeling to anyone walking by. It’d been over a week since her conversation with Luna and she still couldn’t understand what the fuck she meant, and she still didn’t feel anything when she was with Harry. The whole situation was frustrating her so much that she was actually looking forward to Harry being in detention today – she hated faking being comfortable around him when she really just felt awkward. And knowing that in turn made her feel awful, guilty and sad.

Elbows on the table, head held in her hands she squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could, hoping that maybe she could reset her brain. But all it did was give her a headache. _What the FUCK am I supposed to do?!_ She screamed inwardly before letting her head fall through her hands to thunk loudly and painfully on the table.

“Ughhh – fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!” She groaned out at the table as she gently thumped her head once more.

“So, it’s that kind of day is it?”

The voice was friendly and familiar, and Ginny slowly raised her head from the table’s surface, lamenting internally that she didn’t build her book wall higher as she didn’t want to talk to anyone, before she turned her head toward the aisle.

“Oh, Susan!” She said quickly, sitting up straight and rubbing her forehead with the sleeve of her robes to try and smooth out the red mark she could feel forming in the center.

“Hey Ginny,” Susan said happily with a warm smile as she placed a hand on the edge of the table. She tilted her head to the side before her face turned to a more serious and curious expression. “Everything – uh – okay?”

“Uh,” Ginny looked down at the table. Feeling a bit stupid for being caught swearing at it as she bashed her own head. She frowned, then answered bluntly “No not really.”

Susan frowned in response before stepping two steps toward her on the opposite side of the table but being careful with her spacing so as not to crowd Ginny. Ginny sighed internally, another thing that she always liked about Susan – her situational awareness was killer, and she really knew how to read the people around her.

“Anything I can help with?” Susan asked gently, eyebrows raised a fraction.

Ginny looked up to her bright honey-coloured eyes, there was a lighter almost golden ring around her pupil that was really quite stunning. She wondered if it was genetic. Realizing that she’d been staring at her she cleared her throat and then looked back down at the table.

“Honestly, probably not, but I appreciate the offer.” She grimaced and twisted her hands into a knot in front of her. “I just haven’t been having a good last few weeks. I’ve felt a little bit – off.”

“Oh,” Susan took a tentative step closer to her. “Have you gone to see Madam Pomfrey – she makes a mean Pepperup.”

Ginny sighed, this was exactly why she didn’t want to talk to people. She either had to pretend like nothing was wrong or have people think that she was sick and needed the hospital wing – though to be fair, that’s what she had thought initially too. She just didn’t feel like explaining to half the school that she was dating Harry fucking Potter and still felt alone, lost, confused and like she didn’t belong.

“Yeah,” Ginny said forcing a smile and looking up at Susan. “I’d been by this week already but maybe I should go again. I’m sure it will help.”

Her smile felt weak and she felt defeated inside.

“Mhmm,” Susan said slowly, studying her more closely. “Ginny, you know if you ever want to just – talk – I’d be more than happy to lend you my ear. While going to see Madam Pomfrey is a great idea when you’re sick, I get the feeling that this might be something else – that maybe you’re just _sick_ of feeling a certain way?”

Ginny’s eyes widened and she stared straight into Susan’s eyes.

“I -uh,” She faltered. Susan was appraising her in the most knowing way anyone had ever looked at her and it made her stomach tighten. “I guess you could say that.”

Susan smile gently and took a seat quietly on the other side of the bench a foot closer to the aisle than where Ginny sat.

“It’s okay to feel lost and unsure you know,” she said softly. “I used to, all the time. And while I’m not sure what it is that you’re going through exactly – I do know what it feels like to be alone and confused.”

“What did you do about it?” The words were out of Ginny’s mouth before she could stop them and she wanted to kick herself. _So much for not talking to people_ , she thought.

“Well, everyone’s situations are different, but I really found that talking to a close friend that I could trust was really helpful.” She smiled again, propping her chin on her hand as she leaned on the table. “For me that friend was Luna – she’s very intuitive and very kind. I think she knew what was going on and what I needed before I had even realized it.”

Susan laughed softly as she spoke and her smile grew kinder as she thought fondly of Luna.

“That’s funny,” Ginny said as she smiled back. “Not what you said! Just – I actually talked to Luna a week ago. Though, I think it just made me more confused.”

Susan laughed gently at the look on Ginny’s face, brows slightly furrowed with a general dusting of confusion.

“Yeah,” Susan agreed, shaking her head gently. “Sometimes Luna can be a bit cryptic. She never wants to _tell_ you anything directly, she believes that everyone should come to their own conclusions. But, if you can decode what she said I think you’ll find it very useful. It took me over a month to figure out what she said to me. But when I did, I realized that I was actually just decoding my own heart, and that Luna’s advice only pointed me to something that had been there the whole time.”

“Wow,” said Ginny, mouth open a fraction. She shook her head. “And how do you feel now?”

“Great,” Susan said as she sat up straight. “I feel much better, more confident, I know what I want now, and for the first time in probably my whole life – I accepted myself. I learned to love myself for who I am.”

Ginny smiled genuinely and she wondered if Susan’s conversation with Luna coincided with the change that she’d seen in Susan – the change into a strong and confident person.

“I don’t suppose you have any suggestions for decoding?” Ginny asked lightly, arching her eyebrow. “I’m not sure I want to spend a month trying to sort this one out.”

Susan laughed genuinely and it was like music to Ginny’s ears, she could feel her cheeks flush lightly, happy that she’d been the one to make her laugh in full.

“No,” Susan said still chuckling. “No – I doubt it. Luna is pretty mysterious, even if I knew what she said I doubt I could decode it – her messages are always meant for the person they’re delivered to. I’m afraid I probably wouldn’t be much help.”

Susan gave her a sympathetic look before slowly standing up from the table.

“But,” she added as she collected the books she’d set down. “If you ever need someone to talk to, just let me know okay?”

Ginny watched her movements, the gentle fingers that picked up the books, her honey-coloured eyes which were filled with genuine concern and how she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she pulled the books tighter to her chest.

Ginny’s breathing tightened and for reasons that she would spend the rest of the weekend trying to comprehend, she blurted out words for the second time that day.

“She told me that maybe I feel how I feel – that maybe my emotions aren’t broken but my perception of them is, and uh – maybe I haven’t been looking for them in the right places.”

The words tumbled out of her mouth and she felt the flush on her cheeks deepen. Embarrassed that she’d just dumped Luna’s words out on the table like that. It wasn’t like Susan was her best friend, maybe that was too much all at once.

Susan’s eye widened and her grip on her books tightened ever so slightly before she regained her composure and she looked Ginny over gently.

“Any uh – any ideas on what that meant?” Ginny asked sheepishly, grabbing her elbow with her opposite hand.

Susan’s movements were slow and she was looking at Ginny as if a light switch had just flicked in her head.

“I uh,” Susan looked torn, like she was deciding what to say. Like she was holding something back. “Ginny, I don’t think I’m the right person to tell you – I don’t think I should assume anything – I think this is something that you need to figure out on your own.”

Ginny frowned, at herself really, and diverted her eyes down to the table.

“You’re right I’m sorry Susan,” She wanted to melt into the ground – her normal strong Gryffindor confidence and pride melting away. She’d been such a mess with her feelings over the last few weeks that she really didn’t feel like herself anymore. She felt pathetic. Her fiery attitude felt like it’d been snuffed out. “I shouldn’t have asked you – there’s no way you’d know what that meant, I’m just really confused. Sorry.”

She could feel Susan hesitate, feel her staring at her, and she forced herself to look up. _For Merlin’s sake Ginny!_ She cursed inwardly _, You will not be pathetic as well as an emotional disaster, you will look at people when you talk to them._ She met Susan’s eyes and saw only kindness, if not a little bit of pity.

“Ginny,” Susan said softly. “You’re a brilliant witch, I know you’ll figure it out faster than I did.”

Ginny felt her stomach flutter at her words and she saw Susan’s finger twitching on her book just slightly.

“Maybe,” Susan said slowly, giving her a knowing look. “Luna’s advice isn’t so coded as you think. Maybe she meant exactly what she said – that you should spend some time listening to your emotions. Not just the bad feelings – but the _good_ feelings too.”

With that she gave Ginny a final smile and said goodbye gently, saying she hoped to see her soon. Ginny echoed her words and then sunk slowly deeper into her seat at the library table.

 _Listen to the good feelings too_ , she hummed to herself and she twisted sideways to lean against the castle wall.

Ginny spent as much of the remainder of the day as she could pondering over both Luna’s and Susan’s words. She forced herself to smile when Harry came to get her from the library and joined in on the conversation at dinner – though secretly she just wanted to go to bed so she could be alone with her thoughts. After what felt like an _appropriately_ _normal_ amount of time in the common room with Harry, Hermione and Ron she excused herself to bed, claiming she was tired from studying and was thankful that Harry accepted her excuse without question, noting that he almost looked relieved.

Putting a pin in that observation for later consideration she got ready for bed and crawled under her sheets before drawing her bed curtains closed. She then spent the next several hours trying to wrap her head around the conversation with Luna and the words that Susan had spoken. She felt like she was surrounded by hints and that the solution – the answer was just floating in front of her face like a cloud of smoke, but every time she tried to grab it, it just vanished. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep.

While she slept Ginny dreamt, dreamt of nonsense and fragmented memories – some real, some imaginary, some spliced together. She dreamt of Harry, but every time she touched him he slipped out of her fingers like he was a slippery bar of soap and he just kept shooting out of her hands. She chased him down the hallway, but he continued to just keep sliding away. Her dream changed and she was playing Quidditch, but her broom wouldn’t take off the ground. She ran around the ground with it between her legs yelling at her team mates – but they couldn’t hear her from so far up in the air. The dream changed again, and she dreamt of running into Susan, but when they collided the pages Susan dropped exploded into bright gold feathers that fell around them and Susan stood in the middle looking more radiant than ever. She dreamt of the Quidditch World Cup and the first time she saw the Veela dance, they were memorizing and she wanted to tell them how beautiful they were, she stood up from her seat to go tell them but Ron asked her why she was leaving – so she sat back down. Too afraid of Ron knowing that she wanted to go see the Veela – that she thought they were beautiful. She dreamt of the Burrow and chasing her childhood friends Thom and Rosa around the yard with a gnome she’d caught from the garden – until it bit her so hard she’d cried. She dropped the gnome and ran away from Thom and Rosa, afraid that they would see her crying and laugh at her. She hid behind a large oak tree and looked down at her bleeding finger. Rosa found her first, coming quietly around the tree to see if she was okay. Ginny tried to look brave, to stop crying, but her finger really hurt and so Rosa gave her a hug. Her hug was warm and Rosa smelled of wildflowers, Ginny buried her face in her hair and it was soft. Rosa asked her if she wanted a kiss to make it better, Ginny nodded and held her finger out – but Rosa didn’t kiss her finger. Rosa kissed her straight on the lips. Butterflies rumbled in Ginny’s stomach and she smiled brightly, but then she heard Thom laughing loudly. Rosa yelled at Thom to go away, but Thom continued to point and laugh, calling them _weird_ saying that they were _gross_ and Ginny started crying again and ran back to the Burrow. She dreamt of golden feathers again before waking up feeling like she’d fallen into her bed.

The sheets were twisted around her ankles and she was sweaty and cold. She looked up to the curtains drawn around her bed, it was still dim, it must be early morning. Pulling herself from bed she went to take a shower quietly – careful not to wake her dormmates.

The hot water felt good against her skin and it helped to wash away the daze that hung over her mind from her dream. The images dancing around in her head as she tried to make sense of them. As the steam and heat woke her senses, she pulled her bodywash from the shower rack and started to scrub herself clean. It smelled of wildflowers, her favourite, and she hummed pleasantly to herself before her head snapped up violently and her eyes were wide. Bottle still held in her hands she stared down at it slowly, her heart starting to race as the images of her dream started to sort themselves into neat little piles.

In one pile, the weird and inaccurate parts of her dream that were definitely not real – like her broom not working. In the other pile, the memories and events that were absolutely real – like her wanting to tell the Veela they were beautiful and… the long and forgotten, yet _very very real_ memory of Rosa kissing her.

Her mind blanked and she stood still for what must have been minutes, body wash in hand, half covered in soap while the hot water pounded down in front of her. How had she forgotten it? _It was my first kiss_ , she thought finally. She’d been so ashamed of Thom’s teasing, so confused by how her heart had been racing that she’d taken the memory and buried it deep, deep down in the darkest part of her to be left forgotten. She’d never told anyone about it. She was only 9 years old at the time and she’d assumed that Thom’s reaction meant that she’d done something wrong. After that she played with Rosa less, even though it made her sad, and she never talked to her parents about what happened.

Ginny stood dumbstruck, overwhelmed by the feelings that were surging through her body. The emotions that she’d been pushing down and burying deep within her – the memories that she’d been intentionally blocking out were pouring out of her like a burst pipe, all at once fast and unforgiving. How she’d found the Veela attractive but was nervous when she realized that Hermione hadn’t. How she remembered thinking Luna was c _ute_ when she had first met her. How she loved the sound of Susan’s laugh and how her heart fluttered when she was near. How Rosa had given her her very first kiss – and how at the time she’d been so happy and excited and that she’d liked it.

“Fuck,” the word slipped from her mouth quietly as hot tears started to pour from her eyes.

Luna had been right. She _had_ been feeling things. She had been feeling things all along, but she had been taking each and every one of those feelings and shoving them into a deep dark pit and leaving them to die there. She’d been taking pieces of herself and qualifying them as _not suitable_ and trying to make them disappear.

Ginny cried. She cried for what felt like ages. Whole body sobs wracked through her, her full body shaking with each one and she crumpled to the bottom of the shower and held her knees to her chest. The hot water poured onto her head and she continued to clutch the bodywash bottle in her hand. The smell of wildflowers still filling the stall.

After a long while Ginny slowly, pulled herself from the floor tiles and forced herself to wash herself off. She was exhausted. She felt like a piece of her had died with this realization – she wasn’t sure if it was because she was heartbroken at her own neglect of self, or if she was dead in anticipation of what she knew she needed to do next. Either way, she knew that today was not going to be a good day.

After her shower Ginny crept back to her bed, it was only 9 am and her dormmates were still snoozing happily. She grabbed a warm, comfortable sweater and a pair of dark pants and slipped them on. She glanced in her mirror and saw the puffy redness of her eyes – but she didn’t care. She knew that what was coming next was going to be devastating, and that she needed to go do it now before she lost her Gryffindor courage. So she didn’t bother to try and hide her already exhausted appearance.

Leaving the girls dormitories she crept into the common room, hoping that Harry would already be awake – Hermione had put the boys on a study program, or at least she had attempted to, and it usually involved them being up and about by 9 am. She didn’t fancy the idea of seeing anyone else but Harry right now – but this couldn’t wait.

The common room was mostly empty, two younger students sat in a corner playing chess, another was in a chair reading by the window and Harry and Hermione sat by the fire reading. She snorted inwardly, unsurprised to see that her brother was not out of bed yet.

She walked quietly up to Harry and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Hermione had seen her approaching and looked up with a smile, which quickly turned to a frown when she saw Ginny’s eyes, and she made to get up from her chair – probably to come over and ask what was wrong – but Ginny shook her head silently. Hermione remained in her seat looking concerned but nodded back. Harry turned to look up at her and his smile faded quickly.

“Gin,” he said quietly. “What’s wrong?”

“Wanna go for a walk?” Her voice sounded hoarse and strained like she’d been wailing in the shower for the last hour – which she had been.

“Yeah,” he said as concern wrapped his face. And he put his book down and stood up quickly. “Yeah, come on, let’s go.”

Ginny led him silently out the portrait hole, through the castle and out the main doors down toward the lake. The whole way Harry did not try to touch her, or comfort her and he didn’t ask her what was wrong. She thanked him inwardly for that – Harry was such a good guy.

When they reached the large oak tree by the lake Ginny stopped and turned to face Harry. The wind had picked up and it was starting to spit, the grey clouds in the sky darkening ominously. She looked at Harry and his expression was filled with worry, concern, love and kindness. She stared at him and she felt tears start to prickle at the corner of her eyes. This hurt. She was about to _hurt_ Harry Potter. She loved him, she knew she did – just now she understood that it was in a different way, like how she loved Hermione or how she loved her brothers. This morning it’d hit her like a bludger that she would never feel anything more than that for Harry, and it killed her. She knew she was about to break his heart and he deserved better. He was an incredible guy, he was so kind, so thoughtful, so brave and just the best guy she knew.

She closed her eyes tightly, calling on her inner fire – the one she knew was still there. She’d let it fizzle, she’d dumped water on it each time she hid a part of herself away and ignore the emotions that she didn’t want to see, but she _knew_ it was still there. Opening her eyes she looked at Harry with determination. Ready to tell him, but Harry spoke first.

“Ginny, I’m sorry,” his voice was quiet but urgent and it held a sense of anguish in it.

“What,” She faltered, a look of confusion crossing her face. “Wait – why are you sorry?”

Now Harry looked a bit confused and he shuffled awkwardly on the spot as fat raindrops started to fall.

“I thought you might be upset with me,” he hesitated a moment. “That I – that I’ve been a bit distant.”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up.

“That _you’ve_ been distant?” she said incredulously.

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly, the confusion on his face growing. “I thought you noticed I’ve been a bit – erm – off this last little while. I thought I might have upset you. I thought that you were annoyed with my – uh – with my hesitating with – with – um – being close to you.”

Ginny was in disbelief, if she was being honest – she didn’t notice him being distant, she was too preoccupied with her own emotions. She hadn’t been paying attention. But looking at Harry now he looked nervous, scared almost, and an anxiousness filled the air around him. His hands twisted into the fabric of his sweater and his hair was hanging wet on his face.

“I uh,” he hesitated again, looking down at the ground before taking a deep breath. “I’ve been having a little bit of trouble being close to you – in that way – I care about you Ginny, I really do, I’ve just been a bit uncomfortable – I don’t know how to describe it.”

A loud clap of thunder jolted Ginny to her senses and the situation that had unfolded in front of her. She looked at Harry – his awkward nervousness, blatant discomfort and unease, and she couldn’t help it as a small laugh escaped her. She couldn’t believe this, she shook her head, Harry was uncomfortable with being _close_ to her.

Harry looked at her more concerned than before, obviously unsure why she had laughed. As rain ran down her hair and soaked through her sweater she smiled at Harry, a genuine and warm smile from the deepest depths of her soul.

“Harry,” she said slowly with the smallest hint of a smile on her face. “Harry, I wanted to talk to you because – well because I also feel awkward, and uncomfortable – because Harry, I think I’m gay.”

There. She’d said it. She’d openly said she was gay for the first time in her life – and she’d said it in front of her boyfriend Harry Potter. It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders and everything felt surreal, her soul felt lighter. Lightning struck brightly over the Quidditch field with another loud boom of thunder.

Harry looked at her in surprise, almost with disbelief. He opened his mouth and shut it, twice, before shaking his head and laughing with a lightness she hadn’t heard in weeks.

“Ginny I,” He looked up at her and his eyes shone. A grin split across his face as he looked at her anew taking her in. “Thank you for telling me, for sharing that with me.”

Ginny smiled genuinely and she reached out and took his hand.

“I’m sorry Harry,” she said quietly through the rain. “I – I didn’t know. I didn’t know until recently. I think I always knew I guess I just – I didn’t realize. I’d pushed it all down. I would never have gotten into a relationship with you if I’d known I just – I just thought it was you Harry. I thought I only loved you and that’s why I never liked any other guys. And I do Harry! I do love you, I care for you so, so much and I know that I always will. It’s just – not in that way. I love you like my brother Harry. And I really hope – I would really love it if we could stay friends?”

Ginny looked at Harry with anxious anticipation, a hopeful shine in her eyes that he would accept her offer.

Harry positively beamed and she could see his shoulders visibly relax. He squeezed her hand tightly in return before he spoke.

“Ginny, I love you – so, so much. But over the last few weeks I realized that I love you like you’re my sister. That’s why I’ve been distant – because I’ve felt uncomfortable and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to hurt you.” He looked into her eyes, the emotions pouring out of them. “Ginny I would love to be your friend.”

Tears poured down Ginny’s face and she pulled him into a tight hug. They stood in the rain as Ginny sobbed and held Harry tightly, telling him how much he meant to her, how sorry she was, how happy she was to have him in her life and thanking him for accepting her. Harry held her with equal tightness and stroked her hair gently, telling her how wonderful she was, how strong she was for telling him, how happy he was for her, how he wanted her to find happiness and how he was so happy to have met her and to have her as part of his life.

When they finally let go the rain had stopped and the sun was peeking out. The world felt quiet and calm again, as if the storm had only been there to echo the release of their emotions. Hands held together firmly, they slowly walked their way back up to the castle. They both agreed that they were officially broken up, but Harry agreed to remain Ginny’s _boyfriend_ optically so that she would have time to further accept her new self-discovery and so that they could come up with a way to mutually break-up to their friends. Ginny wasn’t ready for the school to know that she was gay – which Harry fully supported – and she didn’t want to answer any questions about their breakup while trying to study for her OWLs. They both agreed to keep physical contact to a minimum until they ‘broke up superficially’ – as neither of them wanted it, so they would stick to hand holding or a quick kiss on the cheek if possible. They also agreed that each of them was free to go pursue whoever they wanted to with no hard feelings.

When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Ginny turned to Harry and kissed him gently on the cheek and squeezed his forearm firmly. She thanked him for being so understanding and accepting. Harry patted her gently on the back and in turn thanked her for understanding his feelings and wanting to remain friends.

Then they turned and climbed through the portrait hole to change out of their wet clothes. Hermione gave her a concerned look when she saw her, but it lightened into a smile when she saw that Ginny was beaming. Ginny went and took her second shower of the morning – this time though, she felt relaxed, calm, and thankful. She closed her eyes and soaked in the smell of wildflowers.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Harry grow closer - Harry asks Hermione to learn some dark magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I hope that you enjoy Chapter 7 :) Back to Hermione and Harry’s story now! I’ve got more coming Wednesday for sure this week!  
> 2\. I’m so glad that chapter six was so well received! Thank you all for the wonderful and kind comments <3 I’m glad that you liked Ginny’s story.  
> 3\. As always, please let me know what you think, I always read the comments/feedback and I find that it really is helpful to keep improving.
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe. 
> 
> Updates Sundays +/- a day.

**General Warnings**

explicit language, violence, dark themes, sad themes, PTSD like symptoms, blood and gore, bad situations, explicit smut (but not PWP and chapters with smut will be flagged so you know to watch for it and can skip over it if you prefer), mercy killings, potential character deaths, difficult/controversial topics, torture, interrogation and war. Please read the tags and please read individual chapter warnings.

****************************************

Hermione awoke to the sound of the wind whipping at the tent with vigour and the small sound of rain pitter-pattering against the tent, most of it evidently still being blocked by the cave. It had been two days since Harry told her that Ginny was gay and exactly one month since she was attacked by the werewolf.

She rolled on to her back, the golden locket weighing heavily on her chest as she turned. It felt heavier now than before, since she’d been attacked, and she suspected that it had something to do with the dark magic that would forever linger in her body. The Horcrux didn’t bother her mood any more than usual, it just felt physically heavier and wearing it for extended periods of time made her more exhausted. She wasn’t exactly sure what the reason was for that, but she kept it to herself and wore the locket her fair share. She’d done some reading on it and from what she could find it didn’t seem like there was anything to be concerned about – no actual long-term effects, just short-term exhaustion. Every time she took the Horcrux off and handed it to Harry it was like a literal weight had been lifted from her and she felt fine again. So, she opted to sleep with it or wear it while they read, and Harry had worn it while they walked or exercised.

It was still dark out, the light in the tent was dim, but it was her turn to take the second watch by the entrance of the cave. So far, the area around them had been completely deserted, but they’d been there for a week now and she didn’t want to push their luck. It was time to move on to a new location, somewhere far from the South-West coast of England. Hermione rolled out of bed with ease and turned to look at her bunk triumphantly, hands on her hips and a wide grin spread across her face. She was so pleased with her physical progress and her healing. She was confident that she would be able to apparate now.

A light shone over her and Hermione looked up to see Harry enter the tent, wand in hand and looking right at her.

“Good morning,” he said with a brightness that didn’t match the weather that he’d been sitting in for the last 4 hours. He looked her over and a small grin formed on his face. “You look mighty pleased with yourself.”

Hermione realized that she was still standing in triumph next to her bed with a stupid smile on her face. She blushed and dropped her hands from her hips, awkwardly grabbing her elbow with the opposite hand instead.

“I was just pleased with my progress,” she said, sounding a little embarrassed.

“You should be! You sure showed that bed who’s boss!” he grinned at her and headed to the kitchen table.

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t help it when a small chuckle passed her lips.

“So, what put you in such a good mood this morning? I can’t see how it was the weather,” she quirked an eyebrow at him as he shucked off his outer rain jacket and hung it on the kitchen chair.

“What? Rain, rain and more rain? Who doesn’t love that?” he grinned at her as he walked toward her, carrying with him a small jar containing a blue flame. He handed it to her gently. “I’m just excited that it’s your turn and I get to go to bed now. Saved my flame for you.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said with a smile, taking the glass jar from Harry. “I do have some good news though.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” Harry had already sat down on his bunk and was pulling on dry socks, looking up at her curiously.

“I think I’m healed enough to apparate. I know you’ll miss the rain – but I thought we could apparate to a new location tomorrow. Put some solid distance between us and the last few camps.”

Harry stopped putting on his socks to look at her fully, appraisingly, a hint of concern in his eyes.

“I know the rain sucks Hermione, but I actually don’t mind it. Are you sure you’re okay to apparate?” he had risen from his bed and walked to stand back in front of her. Placing a hand gently on her upper arm. “You look good – I mean, your physical progress has definitely improved, and you look much better – I just don’t want you to rush anything. But you know your body – so only if you’re sure?”

Hermione blushed lightly at his words. She loved that Harry was always so concerned about everyone else, but she nodded firmly.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she pulled the blue flame a little closer to her chest when Harry’s thumb moved comfortingly against her arm and her stomach tightened. “I know I can do it. I’ll be fine. I’ve been keeping tabs on the level of my fitness and I’ve been checking the wounds. They’re fully healed, and I think I might actually be in better shape than when we left – thanks to your fitness routine.”

Harry smiled at her warmly and dropped his hand. She noticed the void it seemed to leave and how her arm now felt cold. She shook her head to clear it, Harry had touched her plenty of times before, she wasn’t sure why recently it seemed so much more impactful.

“Okay, if you’re sure then I trust you,” he turned to head towards his bunk. “Wake me up if anything happens out there. It’s still pretty awful so I doubt anything is out and about but – you know where to find me.”

With that they smiled and said goodnight to each other, Hermione turning to exit the tent and take up the post at the edge of the cave. She made sure to grab her repaired rain jacket on the way – thankful for it as soon as she stepped from the tent. The wind had picked up and it whirled around violently, the ocean raging and the rain still falling. She settled on the small rock by the entrance of the cave, cast a warming charm on herself and held the jar tight to her chest. It was dark and damp and it made Hermione miss the heat of the summer days after the wedding.

Her watch was uneventful, the storm raged on and the sun, although rising, was barely visible behind all of the clouds. Hermione sat quietly, lost in thought regarding Harry, Ginny, Horcruxes, and the werewolf band. She’d spent the last two days thinking heavily on what she was going to do about these strange feelings that seemed to be surfacing – and the closeness that had grown between her and Harry. Knowing about Ginny had at least squashed the guilt that she had been harbouring over it, but she still wasn’t sure if the change in dynamic was simply just because they’d been stuck in a tent together for months and their hormones were getting to them, _or_ if it was something deeper finally bubbling to the surface. After all, she and Harry had always been close.

Regardless of what it was though, Hermione had pretty well resolved herself to do nothing with the emotions – they were in the middle of a war. She and Harry needed to focus on Horcruxes, to hone their skills and practice, to find the sword of Gryffindor and figure out a way to destroy these things – not to mention locate the remaining ones. She didn’t exactly have the time and she didn’t really think it was appropriate to be dwelling on feelings for her best friend. Especially when the feelings may very well just be pent up sexual tension – she’d never been one to succumb to _urges_ but she was human. There were more important things to do right now – so it would be best to just ignore the closeness and perhaps try to add some more space between them. Still mulling things over she didn’t hear as Harry approached her and laid a hand on her shoulder when her watch was over, and she jumped with a start.

“Sorry,” Harry said softly, giving her an apologetic look. “I made some breakfast, and tea – come on in and warm up.”

“Thanks Harry,” Hermione smiled up at him, handing the jar of flames to his outstretched hands and getting up to follow him inside.

They ate breakfast together and looked over the map to determine where to go next. Hermione selected a remote wooded area in the Northern end of England where she had camped with her parents. After a quick shower they packed up their belongings and then started to disassemble the tent, it took a little bit longer what with having to remove the sticking charms and with the wind trying to pry everything away from them. But they managed to get the tent packed securely into Hermione’s purse.

After handing the locket off to Harry, Hermione stood beside him and reached out to grab his hand. She stood there holding it firmly, taking a few deep breaths to calm her nerves – she was nervous to apparate for the first time in a month, especially considering how rough that last time had been. If she wanted to do it without injury she needed to focus.

Harry squeezed her hand and she looked over to him.

“I trust you,” he said as he met her eyes evenly. “You can do this.”

She smiled back in return, feeling a warm buzz of confidence in her chest and she matched his grip. Taking one last deep breath, she closed her eyes and apparated them away.

They landed in a wooded area, exactly where she planned to bring them, but the velocity of their landing was a bit fast. Hermione stumbled abruptly as her feet landed and she began to fall forwards, but a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist to catch her fall and pull her back.

“Woaahhh – careful,” Harry said gently in her ear. He’d managed to grab her tightly before she fell on her face, he pulled her back toward him and her back thumped gently against his chest.

“Thanks,” she said a little breathlessly. “I guess that took a little more out of me than I expected.”

She looked up over her left shoulder towards him, his hands were still wrapped securely around her waist, albeit less tightly now that she was standing straight on her own, and he was looking down at her with concern. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat.

“You okay?” his voice was quiet as he looked at her.

Hermione stared at him, her eyes widening slightly as she felt her breathing hitch. He was so warm, and a strange heated feeling was washing over her body from the contact between them. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

“Hermione?” his eyebrow raised as he looked at her more intently.

“What? Yeah – no I’m fine,” she could feel the burn of a blush and she looked away quickly. “I’m fine, sorry, I just, that was a bit more difficult than I thought. Are you okay?”

She stepped away from Harry to look at him and he let his arms fall. She needed to put some distance between them and get control of her body’s reactions.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he smiled at her. “You did perfect, I knew you could do it.”

She beamed at him and flushed again before pulling her purse off her shoulder to get out the tent. They set it up together and then placed the wards, enchantments and alarms. Within an hour they were seated on a small rock outside of the tent drinking tea.

The forest was much cooler than South England and a cold breeze blew Hermione’s hair from her face as she sipped the hot tea. It was getting to the end of October and the chill of November was already upon them. Her body was tired. She had been able to successfully apparate, and for that she was incredibly proud, but she felt exhausted as if she’d run a mile _and_ completed their work out routine. The forest was quiet, the only sound was that of the leaves blowing in the trees and the dead ones that fell to the ground. Her eyes started to droop, and she found her body slouching – then after a moment it sagged to the right until it gently leaned against Harry. Her insides churned with anticipation and sleepy butterflies, and the logical side of her brain told her to stop and sit up straight – or if she was that tired then to _just go to bed_. After all, she’d decided earlier that day that it would be best not to dwell on these emotions or do anything else to instigate further closeness between them given the situation. But she was so, so tired and her dead feeling body was winning out and quieting the constant chatter in her head. She opted for whatever was most comfortable and most warm – and Harry was impossibly warm next to the cold air. She kept her eyes from Harry though, staring out into the woods hoping that he wouldn’t think the action was anything more than just an exhausted friend leaning on him for support – because that’s all this was, she stated firmly to herself.

After a moment she felt him move and then his left hand slowly and cautiously snaked around her waist. She felt his hand on her opposite side and her heart fluttered lightly when she felt his fingers grip her steadily so that she could lean her full weight on him. Too sleepy to overthink it, she leaned into him further and he pulled her closer, holding her more tightly. Her head now fully resting on his shoulder, her eyes slouched half-closed, she breathed in a deep breath and could smell the familiar scent of the forest mingling with Harry’s. He always somehow smelled of fall, like the crisp cool air and a deeper smell that she couldn’t name – it was just how he always smelled, and it made her feel calm and safe. They sat in comfortable silence for a while before Hermione spoke.

“Harry?” her voice was quiet and laced with sleepy undertones.

“Mmm?”

She felt his head turn, and she assumed that he was looking down at her.

“I was thinking we should practice some spells and dueling, to help with our reflexes – but also my stamina. I think that’s why apparating hit me so hard. I’ve gotten rusty.”

“You’ve gotten better, you mean,” Harry said gently. But then she felt him nod. “But yeah – I’ve been thinking that too, I was waiting until you were ready. It’s a good idea.”

Hermione nodded into his shoulder and took another sleepy sip of tea.

“We can start tomorrow,” he said gently, giving her a squeeze with his arm.

Hermione smiled and closed her eyes, and she burrowed her face slightly into the sleeve of his thick sweater to warm her nose. She felt him chuckle gently.

“You should go sleep for a little bit,” he murmured into her hair, stroking her side with his hand.

“I suppose so,” she sighed. She had thought about fighting it, but she knew that Harry wouldn’t accept it. Besides, she was no use to them exhausted and half asleep.

Slowly Hermione leaned away from Harry, her body shivering from the cold that quickly filled the gap between them. Smiling at Harry she made him promise to wake her up for late lunch and not let her sleep the day away. He laughed gently but agreed. Bidding him goodnight, she sauntered slowly into the tent and collapsed on her bunk, falling asleep immediately.

Harry kept his promise and woke Hermione up for a late afternoon lunch. She awoke feeling well-rested and they spent the remainder of the day reading and planning which spells they would practice during the following week. Then over the course of the week Harry and Hermione resumed their 4-hour watch shifts, their physical exercise routine, reading, researching, discussing possible locations of the sword of Gryffindor and they added in two to three hours of spell practice in the afternoon.

Hermione practiced her patronus, several explosion spells, disarming and stunning. Harry worked on his disarming, several hexes and explosion spells, and reviewed his healing spells with Hermione’s guidance. They even threw in some practical dueling exercises using strictly disarming and leg locker curses. Each of them ran amongst the trees dodging, jumping, rolling and shielding to avoid getting hit by the other. By the end of the week they had to add a time limit to their dueling training as they were unable to hit each other with anything.

On their last day in Northern England they ate breakfast together and Hermione noticed that Harry seemed oddly quiet and perhaps a little nervous. She was spooning another scoop of oatmeal when he finally broke the silence that had been stretching between them.

“I want to teach you _sectumsempra_ ,” Harry met her gaze determinedly when she looked up from her spoon that now hung limply in front of her mouth.

“What?” the word fell out of her mouth with no emotion and she eyed him with some confusion. “Harry, that spell is dark magic – you saw what it did to Malfoy.”

“Yes, I know Hermione but please just hear me out okay?” he looked at her hopefully, eyeing the spoon that stood poised in front of her, the eyebrow that she had raised and the look of slight disbelief that covered her face. But, he noted, she hadn’t cut him off in a lecture or said no outright, which was a good sign – so Harry continued slowly.

“I know it’s dark magic Hermione, I’m not denying that. And I’m not asking you to use it – in fact I hope that you or I never even have to consider using it. I just want us to be prepared,” he looked at her evenly, he’d been planning what to say the entire week since the thought first entered his mind. “After the werewolf, after what we have seen – the Death Eaters, _you know who_ – they’re not going to fight fair. If that werewolf was banded to stay in wolf form or banded to serve as you’ve suspected, then our situation just got even worse. I don’t want to use the spell Hermione – I just want to know that if we get stuck, if we reach life or death, that we have something that could save our lives. That you have this as a last resort.”

Hermione frowned at him, put her spoon back into her bowl and crossed her arms over her chest. What Harry said was true and she knew it – she just didn’t like it. Earlier in the week Hermione had told Harry about an interesting article she’d come across on banding experiments from the 1800’s. Turns out that a wizard named Tolipkins had been experimenting with banding magic and discovered a way to blood bond people with the use of a golden band so that they couldn’t harm him and were forced to do his bidding. Almost like a form of the _imperius_ curse but much longer lasting.

Trouble was the person died after several months of servitude. If her suspicions were correct, she figured that someone else had found the article and had been experimenting with it on werewolves. Since they knew that the werewolves were already sided with you know who she began to suspect that the _subjects_ must either be unwilling or muggle. Muggle werewolves were rare, usually they bled out when bitten, but if someone was collecting muggles and changing them on purpose in a controlled way – then Harry was right, they were in a lot of trouble. A Death Eater wouldn’t care about changing a muggle over, they’d create as many as they deemed necessary – and likely keep them in wolf form permanently until they died.

“Harry,” she said quietly. “That spell does irreparable damage.”

“I know,” Harry said eyeing her cautiously. “But so will a Death Eater if they catch you. I only want you to know it for an absolute worst-case scenario – I would never ask you to use it otherwise.”

Hermione bit her lip, pondering it over. She knew that he was right but she hated the idea of knowing a dark spell let alone using one. They were supposed to be fighting this war in the right, in the good – not sinking to the level of the Death Eaters. She sighed and dropped her arms to run a hand through her curls. The Death Eaters were willing to die for their cause, to kill for their cause – _Am I_? The question hummed within her mind.

She knew that she was ready to die for the cause and she would fight until the very end – but she wasn’t sure if she was willing to kill for it. The thought made her sick, even though the logical side of her told her that she needed to be ready for that. Obviously, she didn’t wish for it – but if the Order, or anyone else fighting in the war for that matter didn’t take it seriously or didn’t match the tenacity of the Death Eaters and you know who – they were doomed to fail.

“Fine,” she said with the sound of unease laced in her voice. “You’re right. Fine – I’ll learn it. But I’m not using it Harry, I won’t use it. I plan to fight this war with dignity and in the right, not with dark magic.”

She took a breath and picked her spoon back up.

“But you’re right, Harry – it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Harry’s shoulders dropped, the tension and anxiety finally leaving his body, he sighed and gave her a small smile.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said with sincerity.

She waved him off with her spoon and took another bite before speaking.

“Let’s get it done after breakfast before we leave. Done and over with.”

Harry nodded and picked up his own spoon, eating in a much more normal fashion.

Once the tent was packed, they stood in the forest wands ready. Harry showed her the lashing motion required to cast _sectumsempra_ and went over the pronunciation with her. She frowned while he taught her but didn’t complain. Once she had the spell down Harry went and grabbed a large fallen branch and dragged it over to her before standing back. She stared at the log and held her wand nervously. Then, somewhat reluctantly she cast the spell at the log – flinching visibly when it split violently in half. Harry approached her cautiously and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She remained still and stared at the fragmented log.

“That’s surprisingly easier than I thought it would be,” she said quietly after a moment.

Harry looked down at her and saw the frown deepen across her face.

“I would have thought it would have been more difficult – that maybe I would have felt something – felt something wrong, or dark or _anything,_ ” she looked up at him and Harry was surprised to see what looked like sadness in her eyes. “What does that say about me Harry?”

“Nothing,” he said gently as he stroked her back. “Hermione – it’s different when you see it, when it’s cast against another person. Trust me – you being able to cast it easily is just because you’re skilled. Seeing a log break in half is much less impactful than seeing a person sliced to bits. You’re fine. If you ever have to cast it at someone – it won’t be easy like this.”

Her scowl remained, but she nodded once before dropping her eyes.

“We should get going,” she said quickly changing the subject and grabbing Harry’s arm firmly.

“Alright,” he said gently, before she apparated them away.

-x-x-

Hermione apparated them to an area of rolling hills at the edge of a forest. They were somewhere in the middle of England, and the weather was dim, damp and rainy. They set up camp just inside the woods in silence, Hermione still frowning over her use of _sectumsempra_ , and they settled into their normal routine of reading. Hermione had found that the second apparition was easier – she didn’t stumble when landing and she also didn’t need a nap. Sitting quietly and reading they opted to skip their normal fitness routine due to the weather and try to talk to Phineas instead. Before having to shove his portrait back into Hermione’s purse they learned of a constant low-level mutiny at the school, that Ginny had been banned from Hogsmeade and that Snape had reinstated Umbridges’s old decree forbidding gatherings of three or more students. They figured that Ginny and Luna had likely started up Dumbledore’s Army again – and this made them very pleased.

They took their evening tea inside, sitting in the plush armchairs and listening to the light rainfall around the tent. It was cool, so they both cast warming charms. Harry sat to Hermione’s left and they both shared the footstool in the middle – though Hermione only had her toes perched on the edge of it as she’d brought her chair closer to it and had her knees bent up to her chest. After several moments of silence Harry spoke.

“I’m sorry for asking you to learn that spell Hermione, I just – I just don’t want you to get hurt again. I want us to be prepared,” he looked at her with concern laced in his eyes.

Hermione sighed and felt the crease that’d been between her brows all day fall away. She knew that she’d been particularly abrasive the whole day after using _sectumsempra_ , and that wasn’t fair to Harry who was just trying to be practical.

“No Harry,” she said as she brought her tea cup down to rest on the top of her knees. “Don’t be sorry. I’m just – I’m just being an immature child. You’re right, and your reasons are practical – just because I don’t like it, doesn’t mean it’s not true. I’m sorry for being so stupid and moody about it. You’re just trying to be prepared, you’re taking this seriously.”

Harry smiled at her softly.

“So – we’re good?” his eyebrow had quirked up with his question.

Hermione laughed and smiled at him, letting the last bit of tension she’d been holding fall away.

“Yes Harry, yes we’re good,” she shook her head. “I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have been so immature and pouty about it.”

“Well,” he laughed before grinning at her. “You were pretty pouty about it.”

She nudged his feet with hers, aiming to push them off the stool, but Harry reacted too quickly and instead tangled his legs around hers so she couldn’t move them. She scowled again.

“Must you be so good at everything?” she asked as she tried to pull her feet free, but they just twisted aimlessly between his calves.

“Well, I am the chosen one,” he said with a humorous glint in his eyes.

Hermione groaned and rolled her eyes but stopped twisting her legs and instead settled in deeper to her chair.

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, giving him a look of disbelief before she took another sip of her tea.

Harry laughed outright and reached over to grab his book from the small table between them, flipping it open with one hand to pick up where he’d left off earlier. They sat quietly, Harry reading and Hermione just sipping her tea, enjoying the warmth from the cup and secretly enjoying the warmth from Harry’s legs which were still intertwined with hers. She pushed aside the worry that sat in her stomach of the flutters she got from the closeness and instead reached for her book to read.

After an hour Hermione went to bed first, leaving Harry for first watch with the locket and gripped his shoulder softly as she passed by him. He’d reached up to her hand and squeezed it in return giving her a caring smile before she let go. She wasn’t sure why she did it – perhaps because she wanted to ensure Harry knew they were still fine. But when she crawled into her bunk, she clutched the hand that she'd reached out to Harry tightly to her chest before falling asleep.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training, the shield charm and pent up sexual tension - it finally breaks. Hermione and Harry's relationship shifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Happy hump day everyone!! I hope that you enjoy Chapter 8, I’ve been excited to post this one :D  
> 2\. Please let me know what you think, I always read the comments/feedback and I find it really helpful to keep improving!  
> 3\. I put a little something something in this one…. because it felt right (the smut cometh closer still). But of course, nothing is ever so simple.
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe. 
> 
> Updates on Sunday +/- a few days.

**General Warnings**

explicit language, violence, dark themes, sad themes, PTSD like symptoms, blood and gore, bad situations, explicit smut (but not PWP and chapters with smut will be flagged so you know to watch for it and can skip over it if you prefer), mercy killings, potential character deaths, difficult/controversial topics, torture, interrogation and war. Please read the tags and please read individual chapter warnings.

***********************************

Over the next three weeks, their routine remained steady. They each took their night shifts, took turns with the locket, they prepared meals, cleaned the tent, read, discussed locations for Horcruxes, exercised intensely, practiced spells, practiced healing, ran, dodged, jumped, rolled and duelled – even in the rain. They were both in the best shape they’d ever been in and their confidence was growing. Hermione felt strong – and she liked it.

She could now easily cast her patronus, and they’d both mastered _deprimo_ , _expulso_ , _incarcerous_ , and a nifty little shock spell which could be used to restart someone’s heart. Harry’s ability to recall and use healing spells had improved drastically and he now felt confident that he could heal and treat most wounds. They reviewed through the contents of Hermione’s purse and she explained how to determine how much blood replenishing potion someone needed by casting a quick and simple diagnostic charm – which Harry could now also cast and read. He felt comfortable with her entire potion set and collection of herbs and pastes. Harry felt capable and useful – and he liked it.

During the three weeks they moved locations 4 times and each day Hermione tried to calm her nerves regarding the closeness which had continued to grow between them despite her resolve to do nothing with the mixed emotions that coursed through her. She lectured herself inwardly for her behaviour. She could hardly pretend that outright and intentionally tangling her feet with Harry’s _every_ time they shared the footstool now was helping – though she tried to convince herself it was only for warmth. Now that they were well into the middle of November it was _always_ cold, and the tent was chilly – but she knew her excuse was still weak.

She couldn’t ignore how they now sat precisely beside each other outside every night for tea, shoulders and upper arms touching. When the weather was bad and they had their tea inside, she caught herself either intertwining their legs on the footstool or resting her knee against Harry’s under the kitchen table while they sat opposite to each other. She found it hard to ignore how Harry leaned into her shoulder when he laughed, or how she rested her head on his shoulder if she was tired from the day’s workout. And how when she did rest her head on his shoulder, he would snake his arm around her gently to hold her and pull her closer.

She also couldn’t forget how two weeks ago when she wasn’t feeling great after her night watch in the rain Harry got her some Pepperup potion from her bag, insisted that she stay in bed, and ended up crawling onto her bunk to spend the day sitting with her. He leaned against the large tent pole that ran up alongside the middle of her bunk, Hermione sat propped against her pillows and Harry held her legs over his own, sitting perpendicular to her. He got her books to read, insisted he bring her food and complete the next night’s watch himself so she could rest fully and prevent herself from getting sick. Her stomach still fluttered when she thought about how he’d stroked her knee absently and checked her forehead gently with the back of his hand to make sure that she didn’t have a fever. His face had been so close to hers that she hadn’t breathed, and he lingered a moment before pulling away.

It was also difficult not to notice how one night, she’d held his hand while they sat outside looking at the stars. It was cold and dark, and they were on the peak of a cliff in Northern England. She’d grabbed his hand when she spotted a shooting star and squeezed it excitedly – pointing to the sky with her free hand. Harry grinned widely when he saw the next one that fell and squeezed her hand in return. They sat and watched the meteor shower, hands held tightly and huddled close together with the blue fire containing jar sitting across both of their laps. When the meteor shower ended, neither one of them let go and they sat in silence and continued to look at the sky in silence. Harry traced small circles into the back of her hand with his thumb, and she found herself gripping him far more tightly than what was necessary – especially given it wasn’t even _necessary_ to be holding his hand to begin with.

Hermione had looked up at him under her lashes, only to find that Harry was looking directly at her. They stared at each other in silence before Hermione forced her eyes to look away and she stood up to take their well-worn tea cups inside. Harry had been looking at her with ' _that look',_ the one that she had started to become familiar with over the last few weeks. The one that made her stomach knot. Her heart was positively hammering in her chest by the time she’d made it to the kitchen and her hands clattered the cups onto the counter roughly. It was impossible to ignore the tight coil of heat that was forming in her lower abdomen – and she knew that she was in _deep_ trouble.

Between this and the constant and continued small touches, how Harry had gently pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear after their most recent duel which had made her heart flutter – she didn’t know what to do.

Part way through the next week Hermione apparated them to a field of grass along the North-East coast of England. They were nearing the last week of November and the sleet and snow had started. They quickly set-up the tent and ran out to place their circumference alarms before running back to the tent for cover. It was cold, frosty and wet. When they entered the tent, they each took off their soaking wet jackets and cast several warming spells before starting a fire between the two armchairs in a large bowl. A habit they had started once the cold weather had sunk in. They both huddled around it to warm up before making themselves lunch and Hermione ignored her inner voice once more and tangled her legs with Harry’s.

-x-x-

On the fourth day camping in the field of grass the weather let up ever so slightly and the sleet had turned mostly to fat fluffy snow – with it the weather felt milder. Hermione was feeling pent up, antsy and tense. With the weather being as particularly horrible as it was the past few days, they hadn’t completed their usual duelling, running and exercise routine, instead doing as much as they could within the tent for the last three days. But it was nothing in comparison to the intensity that she had become accustomed to. She found herself pacing the tent after lunch while Harry was in the shower. She’d seen the tension in him too and knew that he was itching to burn off some pent-up tension.

Harry emerged from the bathroom with a cloud of steam, rubbing a tower through his wet hair, to see Hermione walking circles in the tent.

“Feeling a bit pent-up?” he asked, smiling knowingly.

“Yeah, you could say that,” She groaned and stopped her pacing to turn and look at him. He looked fit in his dark green sweater and blue jeans. She flushed lightly and looked at the floor. _Don’t be ridiculous_ , she thought to her self with irritation. “I just need to burn off some steam.”

“Yeah tell me about it,” he muttered with a frustrated sigh as he lightly tossed his towel over the back of a chair to dry. With that he walked to the entrance of the tent and looked outside. “It’s not _too_ bad out, want to go practice a few spells?”

Hermione grinned and grabbed her coat immediately, almost knocking over the chair as she pulled it towards her.

“Absolutely! Dry your hair so it doesn’t freeze,” she walked toward him with her wide grin and touched his side gently as she passed. “I’ll be outside warming up.”

Harry smiled and went to grab his jacket. Drying his hair with a quick drying spell as Hermione had suggested. They used water-repelling charms on their jeans and shoes to help keep themselves dry and spent the next hour out in the mild fluffy snowflakes casting spells and running and dodging.

It felt great and Hermione’s heart surged with joy as she ducked one of Harry’s leg lockers in a quick roll, ignoring the coolness of the snow that fell down the back of her jacket and popped up quickly to throw a disarming spell. Harry lunged to the right and rolled out of the way with ease. Hermione rolled her shoulders before throwing two more as Harry continued to dodge, the smile on her face was contagious and Harry couldn’t help but grin after he had to dive into a small snow pile to escape her relentless attack.

They’d both been practicing their non-verbal magic over the last month and could cast most spells without uttering an incantation. They still required them for healing and more complex hexes, but their progress was undeniable. Hermione couldn’t help but feel as though they had become completely different people from who they were the day Ron had left and she revelled in how they meshed together and worked together better than she could have ever anticipated. She could _read_ Harry and he could _read_ her, they both zigged and zagged and ducked and rolled as if it were a dance. They were in sync, they were united, they were _partners_ – and they both marvelled in how powerful and prepared it made them feel.

After the time limit ran out they both walked back to the tent entrance to grab a drink of water, and Harry turned to Hermione with a glint in his eye.

“I want to try the new shield charm,” he spoke it as a statement, but she could tell he was looking for her approval.

“Okay,” she said puffing slightly as she drank from her glass. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Harry positively beamed and darted in the tent to grab his book and notes, returning to present them to Hermione with a look of pride. Hermione sat on a small rock next to the tent and flipped the book open to read about the spell and skim the notes that Harry had prepared. They’d spoken about it often over the last month so she was already familiar with most of what she was reading. Her eyebrows raised, he had been extremely thorough - and she was impressed. Her reaction didn’t go unnoticed.

“Not _just_ a pretty face huh?” Harry grinned and poked her with his elbow gently, having squatted down next to her. “I have some book skills too.”

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes, but then she grinned up at Harry. Fat flakes of snow had been collecting in her hair and _she looks like Christmas,_ Harry thought.

“These are actually great notes Harry,” she said with praise. “I think you’ve got everything here – really what this will come down to is ensuring the precise wand movement and focus. You need to _really_ want to shield the person you’re casting the spell on – whether it’s you or someone else.”

“I’ll cast it on myself to try it first,” Harry nodded in agreement. “Worst case – you can patch me up afterwards.”

“Don’t say that Harry,” Hermione looked at him firmly. “You’re going to get this. You’ve done the work. We’ll just go slow.”

Harry nodded and they both stood to review the precise wand movements several times until Harry was comfortable making the flick with his wrist before dipping the wand down and then up in a swished counterclockwise circle. He repeated the movements 6 more times before they went through the pronunciation. Hermione had agreed with Harry’s interpretation of the text and the importance of the inflection in the _lo-co_ portion of the spell. After several more repetitions Harry stood several feet away from her and prepared to cast the spell. He stood quietly and unmoving, his black jacket a dark contrast to the snow that was falling around them.

“You can do this Harry,” Hermione said calmly mimicking the motions with her hand. “Just remember, it’s _Plenus-Protego-corPus-LoComotor_. You really have to hit that P and C.”

“I know,” Harry said nervously, shaking his arms out as he repeated her word and then looked up at her. “Well – here goes nothing.”

He took a breath and Hermione clenched her jaw.

“ _Plenus-Protego-corPus-LoComotor_!” he cried, making the wand movements in sync with his words and focusing his attention on his own body.

Harry’s wand shot out a dark purple spark with a bright white light in its center, it immediately turned back toward him and expanded rapidly, encasing his entire body. Harry stood frozen as the spell circled him fully – it looked like he was encased in a Harry shaped bubble that was slightly larger than him, still a deep purple shade until – it vanished. Harry didn’t move, he wasn’t breathing, and he slowly raised his hand to look at it. It looked perfectly normal. He turned his head toward Hermione who was watching him anxiously.

“Are you okay Harry?” she asked, stepping closer to him and gripping her wand tightly at her side.

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly as he took a step forward. “Everything – sounds a little funny. I can feel the presence of something around me – like a small hum. I think it might have worked – hit me with a disarming spell.”

Hermione raised her ward and pointed it at Harry’s chest, he looked at her anxiously, excited but tentative.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” she called it out loud so that Harry would know when to expect it, her spell hit him firm in the chest, but nothing happened, and a smile broke out on her face. “Harry, I think you’ve done it!”

Harry beamed, a wide smile stretching across his face.

“Go again, hit me with another – try something else this time.” He looked at her eagerly.

“ _Petrificus_ _Totalus_!” she stepped forward as she cast the spell to ensure there was no room for a miss.

Again, nothing happened, and her spell just disappeared as it reached Harry’s chest.

“Harry this is incredible! Try moving,” Hermione gestured with her head and Harry nodded before running off to his right with a huge grin on his face.

She cast two more disarming spells, a bat bogey hex and two leg lockers at Harry as he ran in a slow line away from her. Each of her spells being absorbed by the shield that still encompassed Harry. She noted that the shield did not deflect spells – they just disappeared when they hit the shield, rendered completely ineffective. As Harry increased the speed of his running the shield stuck with him and didn’t fail to protect him. He was able to run, jump, dodge, duck and roll and it did not falter. They found that it lasted about 7 minutes, Hermione ended up hitting Harry with a disarming spell right when he noticed the humming sound disappeared. She returned his wand to him and they both grinned ecstatically. They both agreed that they needed to be careful using it as 7 minutes was a decent time to cause damage if Harry was to be trapped inside a miscast spell. Not to mention that the spell was long and the wand movements had to be precise. This was a spell to cast in advance where possible, not something that could be done while on the run.

Casting on another human would be risky Hermione had explained to Harry – every living creature has an underlying desire to preserve one’s self, so being focused and truly desiring a shield for yourself was less likely to fail. However, if you cast the spell on someone else it is possible that you may not mean it, _even_ _if_ you think you mean it. Any unresolved feelings, agitation or discourse between you and the individual could result in a harming bubble. They both agreed to only cast the shield on themselves.

Hermione then went through the wand motions and practiced the pronunciation with Harry before attempting the spell herself. She was successful, her spell lasting approximately 5 minutes before Harry hit her with a leg locker curse. She fell face-first to the snow mid-stride and tried to lessen the impact of her landing with her hands.

“Fuck,” she groaned out softly as she tumbled into the snow-covered grass.

“Oh, shit – Hermione!” Harry ran toward her wand out and quickly cast the counter curse. “I’m sorry!”

He reached out to her and she grabbed his hand, he tugged her up from the ground gently and the loose snow that had collected on her fell to the ground. The snow was thicker now, and she noticed that she could hardly make out the tent that was just a few dozen feet away from them.

“It’s okay Harry,” she breathed, and she steadied herself on her feet next to Harry, before looking up at him with a huge grin. “Bad timing is all – but I figure I’ve got 5 minutes. Harry – this spell is incredible!”

Harry grinned at her, still holding her arm and pulled her into a warm hug. She hugged him back tightly, laughing happily.

 _This feels amazing_ , she thought. They finally might have an advantage with this new protection spell, something that could buy them time or give them an edge – something that at the very least, no one would be expecting.

“Harry this is fantastic, this will be so useful,” she looked up at him while he still held her tightly and met his eyes. They were bright, optimistic and happy.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said with a grin as he looked down at her. “I wouldn’t have been able to do this without your help. Thank you for believing that I could do this.”

“Of course, Harry,” she said quietly, her eyes filled with emotion. “I always believe in you, you’re a brilliant wizard. You figured this one out all on your own.”

Harry laughed, tilting his head back a bit before he looked back down at her, still clutching her firmly to his chest. His warmth was spreading through her.

“You give me too much credit,” he said quietly. “You’re the brilliant one.”

Hermione’s heart fluttered in her chest and she could feel her pulse quicken. _Oh no_ , she thought. She couldn’t look away from his eyes, and now the stupid big smile that he had on his face had shifted into a look of caring while he stared down at her. She felt her fingers involuntarily grip the back of his jacket tighter and Harry’s own snugged her closer in turn. Her heart beat faster, and she knew she wasn’t breathing. _Shit,_ she thought as panic started to set in at the back of her mind, _now’s not the time, you need to focus_.

Hermione saw the look in Harry’s eyes deepen into something else, something darker, something with _want_. She could hardly hear the logical side of her brain anymore as she looked up at Harry and her silly smile fell from her face as a look of wonder mixed with confusion settled in. She could hear her heart beating and feel the tension in the air tighten as the air grew thicker and warmed between them. Despite the snow which still encased them, she felt impossibly warm, and she knew that her cheeks must be dusted in a light blush.

She noticed that Harry’s face was closer to her now, his eyes darkened with intensity and she could make out the different shades of green speckled within them. His face crept infinitesimally closer and her eyes widened. The wind picked up and blew a cold gust around them, she shivered – but she knew it wasn’t because of the wind. It was because of the closeness and the look in Harry’s eyes, the look that said more than she wanted to know, more than she ever expected to see. The look that gave way to so many possibilities that it scared her.

With a last ditched effort from her reasonable side she tore her eyes from Harry’s and dropped her forehead to his chest. She took a deep breath and then dropped her hands and stepped back from him. The cold encircled her and she shivered once more. Harry let her step away, dropping his arms slowly to his sides, but his eyes followed her. His head was tilted to the side and he was still looking at her with the same wanting eyes – though a veil of curiosity had settled over his face.

“I’m starving,” Hermione spat out pathetically as she looked away again and focused her eyes back to the tent, which she could barely make out through the thick snow. “I’ll go make us some dinner.”

With that she started toward the tent, leaving Harry in the snow-covered grass. He didn’t enter the tent until Hermione had dinner already set out on the table. While preparing the food she remembered that she had been saving three bottles of butterbeer in her bag for a special occasion and still had a large piece of treacle tart. She had completely forgotten about them – it was crazy how living in a tent, moving places every few weeks or days, and being away from civilization made it hard to keep track of time or think about luxuries like butterbeer and sweets. She set two bottles out on the table along with the treacle tart slice just as Harry stepped into the tent.

“Dinner’s ready!” she called over her shoulder as Harry approached the opposite side of the table. She tried to ignore the blush that she knew still covered her cheeks and the slight nervous tremble of her fingers. “And, I have a surprise! I’ve been saving some butterbeer and treacle tart for a special occasion Harry – and after today, with the new shield charm - well it seemed like the perfect occasion.”

She turned to Harry with a nervous smile, fully expecting him to be back to his normal self just like how they behaved after every previous intimate moment – after every touch, every look, and even after their hand holding and lingering moment outside on the cliff by the water. But her heart skipped a beat when she saw that Harry still had the same look on his face as he did outside. The same wanting, dark and curious look that made her stomach turn over and her pulse race once more. Hermione bit her lip – Harry’s eyes tracked the movement and lingered on her mouth a moment before slowly moving back up to her eyes. She looked down at the table quickly and took her seat.

It was impossible not to see it, the look of desire in his eyes. _Breathe_ , she thought as she tried to calm herself.

“Thanks Hermione,” Harry said quietly before taking his seat at the table, his voice was deeper than usual, it had never sounded like that in all the times he’d spoken to her before. “I can’t believe you’ve been hoarding butterbeer this whole time.”

Hermione laughed awkwardly and forced herself to look up into his eyes, the eyes which spoke volumes.

“Yeah, I sort of forgot about them,” she twisted the sleeve of her sweater with her hand nervously before looking back down to her plate.

She was kicking herself inwardly for her pathetic antics. She was sitting with her best friend Harry at dinner – something that she had done literally thousands of times before – but now with that look in his eyes she couldn’t control her heartbeat _or_ her thoughts. Her mind raced, trying to determine what to do, how to act, what to say.

The tension and thickness from outside the tent had leeched its way inside. Every time previous they’d resorted back to their normal function. They'd resumed their normal behaviour and their normal unemotional, un-intense, non-heart thumping atmosphere. But now, her stomach fluttered as she grabbed a roll from the bowl in the center of the table.

 _I should have made more space, s_ he thought inwardly as she took a bite of her food. It felt like everything from over the last few months had all of a sudden come to a head and she couldn’t process it, she couldn’t manage it. She did not know what to _do_ with it. She’d been burying everything deep down over the last few weeks and convincing herself that his touches and their shared looks and the moments between them weren’t anything special – _they weren’t a big deal_.

But as they ate dinner more quietly than usual – Harry thanking her for the treacle tart with a look that smouldered so hard she dropped the roll from her mouth – she _knew_ it was a big deal. _It was all a fucking big deal, _her mind supplied.

Giving up on her roll she pushed some peas around on her plate before she looked up toward Harry’s burning gaze and she felt a familiar knot tighten in her stomach. The one she had started to become accustomed too, the one that came with warmth, a blush and a heat in her lower abdomen. The one that reached deep within her core. She continued to pick at her meal lightly, too nervous to eat, and began talking fast about some of the reading that she had been doing regarding potion brewing in unorthodox situations – reciting books always made her feel more calm.

She had been counting on Harry going back to his normal behaviours – this wasn’t her plan, she’d made no backup.

When Hermione finished explaining her reading she sat quietly looking at her hands as her thoughts spun quickly. Then Harry spoke.

“Dinner was delicious, Hermione,” his voice was still deep and he spoke quieter and slower than normal. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she glanced up toward him and the remainder of her sentence died in her throat at the expression on his face. Her heart began to thud loudly and she realized she wasn’t breathing again.

Averting her eyes completely from Harry’s she once again decided to abandon ship and she stood to clear the dishes, grabbing the plates and walking them to the kitchen to set them on the counter.

She placed both hands firmly on the edge of the counter, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She willed her racing heart to calm down. She tried to breathe, compartmentalize, use her meditation and control her thoughts and emotions – but she felt like her insides were the raging snowstorm that had formed outside. The tent rippled gently around them from the wind and the knot in her stomach doubled. She raised her wand to clean the dishes but froze, eyes shooting wide open and she tensed as she felt Harry approach behind her.

His movements were slow, giving her time to react or move away, _again_ , for the third time that day. But this time – she stood still on her spot, pulse racing and hand clamped tightly on her wand. Her breath hitched in her throat as he closed the spaced between them. She could feel the heat of his body behind her, he was just an inch away and she felt the air thicken further. He slowly reached his right hand around her and closed it over her wand hand, lowering it back down to the counter.

“It’s my job to do the dishes,” he said quietly, his voice rumbling gently in her right ear as he leaned next to her. “You made dinner.”

A shiver ran down her spine at the closeness and the deep baritone of his voice, she turned to face him – and immediately realized that this was probably not the greatest idea. Facing Harry, she could see the intense look in his eyes. He was searching her face, curiosity written in his eyes, as if looking for the answer to an unasked question. Hermione took an unconscious step backward, her hips collided gently with the kitchen counter behind her and it prevented her movements further. Her eyes widened and she stared at Harry intently as her chest constricted. His eyes were bright, the green shinning and the intensity suffocating. He took a step toward her, his left hand coming to rest lightly on her hip while his right raised up toward her face.

She wasn’t breathing. She was sure her face was burning bright and the heat within her body grew.

He stepped the final half-step toward her to close the distance between them, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His right hand was resting gently near the left side of her face and he brushed a loose curl behind her ear – without thinking she leaned her head into his hand. Her eyes followed his as they roamed over her.

Words were lost to her. She couldn’t hear herself think.

“Hemione?” he said just above a whisper as he leaned forward towards her.

“Yes, Harry?” the words that came from her lips were so quiet he wouldn’t have heard them if he wasn’t mere inches from her face now.

“Do you want me to stop?” his words were clear, but his voice was husky. He was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face.

The room felt small, the air was tight, her chest had constricted, and her brain was short-circuiting – providing nothing but nonsense. She couldn’t stop the hot tight coil that had wound up in her lower abdomen, that burned from her core. Before she even realized that she’d said it, the words fell from her lips.

“No.”

Then Harry kissed her, closing the inch between them and capturing her lips with his. His lips were soft, and they moved against hers gently, slowly, with a sense of uncertainty. She inhaled sharply as their lips met. He broke contact with her briefly only to lock his lips more firmly to hers.

Heat flooded through her body, her heart was hammering, and her legs started to tremble. Harry stepped into her, gripping her hip with his left hand and stroking the side of her face with his right before turning his head to kiss her more deeply. She placed one trembling hand on his chest, clutching the fabric of his sweater tightly in her fist and her opposite hand grabbed the side of his sweater.

Her mind was blank, her body was stiff with nervousness, her heart pounded and her insides burned with the heat that was emanating from her core. Their kiss quickened, becoming sure and desperate. Harry traced his tongue along her bottom lip and she opened her mouth to him, allowing him entrance. He took his time, tasting her, running his tongue over the inside of her mouth, familiarizing himself with her and she let out a soft moan into his mouth.

His grip on her hip tightened at the sound and he stepped forward once more, pressing himself up against her, pushing her hips into the counter behind her. He groaned when she nibbled his bottom lip softly and the intensity of their kiss escalated. Both now grasping each other tightly, Harry’s hand tangled in Hermione’s hair as she clutched desperately at his sweater, her knees weak as she clung to him. He parted her legs with his knee and pushed his thigh between hers.

Another moan fell from her lips. She felt like her whole body was on fire, she burned at their contact but she craved _more - needed_ _more._ The tight familiar coil at her core wound further. Harry kissed her deeply, passionately, and it became more aggressive with each breath. Hermione tangled her tongue with Harry’s clutching him tightly like she was afraid to let go. Harry’s hand moved from her hair to her neck, his thumb rubbing small circles into her as it went. The feverish pace of their kiss made her feel like she was on the edge of an explosion and she felt an old forgotten pulse between her thighs. Harry’s leg pushed into her again and she groaned out desperately against his hard body, her core aching for more closeness. Harry’s hand on her waist gripped her tighter and his thumb slipped under the hem of her sweater. He slowly brought it up her side until it grazed across the scar on her ribs.

She flinched violently as she felt his thumb drag over her middle scar and the twitch of his hand. He’d touched the scar that ended just over her right ribs and their kiss broke. She dropped her head down, breathing hard and fast, having let go of Harry’s sweater to clutch at her own chest. Her legs were trembling and she shook slightly.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed quickly, afraid to look up. Her heart was hammering and the heat between her legs was throbbing, begging for Harry to press into her again - but her mind had been ripped away by the touch against her scar and a new wave of emotion started to pour through her. She felt _sick_.

“Hermione,” Harry said, his voice ragged, his hand already removed from her side to rest gently on her upper arm. “I’m sorry – I – I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry – I got carried away.”

He had known as soon as he’d done it, the second he’d felt the rough skin under his thumb he knew he'd made a mistake. A stupid, _stupid_ mistake. He groaned inwardly, dropping his head and giving it a shake. She was still looking at his chest, breathing uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly, shoulders dropped and unmoving.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly as the hand on her chest twitched.

“No,” Harry said with a sigh, taking a step back and dropping his hands from her. “It was _stupid_ on my part, I’m sorry Hermione. I wasn’t thinking.”

Slowly Hermione raised her head to look at him, she gave him a small and broken smile. Harry’s heart dropped – her eyes were glassy. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips red and swollen and Harry couldn’t help but think she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen – and yet his heart felt like it was breaking as he looked at her. He’d done this. He’d brought those tears to her eyes. _I’m a fucking idiot_.

“It’s okay Harry,” she said feigning confidence. Dropping the hand that clutched her chest to stand a bit straighter she cleared her throat. “I – I’m just still, not used to them being there. They’re not – I don’t – It’s not,” her voice was starting to falter, and her eyes averted down once more.

“I don’t look the same – they’re not pleasant – it just – it made me remember it all. I’m sorry - you didn’t do anything wrong,” the words poured out of her quickly and he could see her shoulders start to shake.

Harry took another step back to give Hermione space and ran a hand through his hair in frustration, he had no idea what the fuck to say.

“I uh, I’m going to go shower,” she said quickly as she stepped away from him and walked on unsteady feet to the bathroom.

Hermione closed the bathroom door quickly behind her and sunk against its backside – while Harry stood in the kitchen with both hands clenched in his hair before dropping his head heavily to the kitchen counter in frustration.

 _Fuck_ , they both thought.

Hermione ran both hands over her hair. Her heart was still hammering and she felt dizzy as the realization of what just happened hit her.

She touched her lips cautiously and pushed off the door to look in the full-length mirror. Her hair was a mess from Harry’s hands, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips puffy. Her sweater hung lopsided, sagging to one side so she could see the top scar peeking out just above her collar bone. Her eyes narrowed at it as a wave of anger and sadness hit her and she felt the hot tears she’d been holding back begin to fall down her face.

Angrily she ripped her shirt off over her head and she stared back at her reflection. It was _horrible_. It was unchanged from the day she awoke after the attack. Ignoring the ball that tightened at the base of her throat she raised a trembling hand up to run her fingers over the marks. Her skin was rough and bumpy – with raised and lowered places where the torn skin had healed unevenly due to the dark magic. Her stomach lurched and she screamed inwardly at the reflection of her scars. _FUCK these fucking scars! Goddammit!_ Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, it ached, and she retched as a sob escaped her.

When Harry had touched her distorted skin, it raised a wave of panic like a tsunami. She’d flinched as her body remembered the pain, the agony, the blood, the fear, lying in the grass thinking she would die, the look in his eyes when he saw her and her deep disgust with her permanent markings. The disgust that she had been able to ignore and pretend wasn’t there up until this point.

She turned toward the shower and turned it on more aggressively than necessary, casting a quick heating charm before she rapidly removed the remainder of her clothes and entered the shower stall. She spent several minutes in the shower angrily scrubbing herself and cursing her scars before she started to calm herself down. Forcing herself to breathe and meditate.

When her breathing finally regulated she worked her way through her emotions. She was frustrated, angry, upset, sad, confused and now absolutely sexually pent-up from the intense kiss she’d just shared with Harry. She groaned in frustration, dropping her head heavily against the stall wall. Her emotions were raging like a loose bludger inside her head and it was making it ache. _So much for doing nothing with the situation_ , she thought pathetically as she rinsed her curls out under the water. More so than that – _so much for not caring about my scars,_ she spat angrily.

As she washed, her mind raced with a hundred questions over what just happened. _What would this do to their relationship? How would this impact their mission? What did he think when he touched them? What did this mean? How would they behave now that they’d kissed? What would have happened if I didn’t stop – if I didn’t have these scars that made me stop?_ It had been so intense, so passionate, so heated. Hermione had never kissed _anyone_ like that before. She remembered Viktor’s clumsy lips when he had kissed her in 4th year. It had been wet, sloppy, and inexperienced and her body had not reacted like this.

Nothing she’d ever experienced had been like _this_.

The questions raced through her head as the hot water continued to pour over her. She briefly tried to convince herself that it wasn’t a big deal, they were both just sexually pent up from being in a tent. In her heart though, she knew that wasn’t the case. _Of course it’s a fucking big deal_, she seethed. She knew that there was something deeper going on – and that made her feel even worse. If what happened mattered, then it meant that she had to acknowledge that there were real feelings. Real feelings, her feelings, that could get hurt. _What if Harry doesn’t want me because of my mangled chest?_ _What if he is disgusted by it? I’m disgusted by it – because it’s fucking DISGUSTING!_ This made a part of her feel like it was dying.

She dropped her head in her hands as her shoulders shook and the hot water poured down her back, pooling at her feet. She never considered herself an overly attractive girl to start with, but now it killed her to think of what must have gone through Harry’s head when he touched her, when he felt it. _When his hand twitched,_ she remembered with a pain in her chest. She knew Harry wasn’t judgmental on looks but… everyone had limits. She wasn’t exactly going to be anyone’s _top pick_. And his hand had twitched.

She had been concerned about this moment the second she saw the scars – at the time she didn’t think it would happen with Harry – but she figured it would happen eventually. She knew that _someone_ would see it, _someone_ would touch it - eventually. She groaned, she knew it was pathetic, immature and vain – but the truth was the scars had shattered her self confidence in her appearance and made her anxious about being _intimate_ or _exposed_ with anyone. She was still confident in herself and her ability and so long as she kept her sweaters on, she was able to forget that the scars were there and just be herself. But Harry’s touch had brought everything racing back – _all of it_ – not just her anxiety and insecurity about her appearance but also the memories from the night she was attacked and it had thrown her more than she could have ever anticipated. She thought that she had dealt with this, but now she was realizing that she’d only pushed everything down into a dark corner of her mind.

Finishing her shower, she dressed slowly, back into her same clothes – having been too focused on escaping the kitchen to remember to grab a new set. So, she opted for a quick cleaning charm before putting them back on.

Standing with one hand on the bathroom door she thumped her head gently against it. She didn’t know what to do. She’d just snogged Harry Potter - her best friend – rather intensely, she noted. _And I liked it,_ she thought – _a lot._ She didn’t know where they both stood. She didn’t know how he felt. She didn't know how to walk out of this bathroom and look at him - and she didn’t know what to do about it.

Her hand trembled slightly as she held the doorknob and she tried to push everything back down. Including her new memory, the one of Harry’s hand twitching as he touched her, the moment he felt her scar. She thumped her head one last time loudly before she twisted the doorknob to exit the bathroom.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Hermione and Harry relationship growth with an important conversation on her scars. A large portion is Harry's POV. And then some action...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. It’s Sunday!! And this chapter is brought to you by my incessant desire to attempt baking macarons in the middle of the night for the first time. I was inspired by a Draco/Hermione fanfic (I'm aware this is unpopular in the harmony fan group) that circled around baking… but WOOF – they be bitches to make. I’m super not talented enough to bake that shit. Either way though – waiting around for things to cook or cool gave me some time to finish this chapter so… I hope that you are all having a splendid day and I hope that you enjoy Chapter 9!  
> 2\. Please let me know what you think, I always read the comments/feedback and I find it really helpful to keep improving!   
> 3\. It is possible that you will see Chapter 10 sooner than Wednesday… so keep posted.
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe. 
> 
> Updates on Sunday +/- a few days.

**General Warnings**

explicit language, violence, dark themes, sad themes, PTSD like symptoms, blood and gore, bad situations, explicit smut (but not PWP and chapters with smut will be flagged so you know to watch for it and can skip over it if you prefer), mercy killings, potential character deaths, difficult/controversial topics, torture, interrogation and war. Please read the tags and please read individual chapter warnings.

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Harry stood hunched over, elbows on the counter with his hands weaved tightly through his hair. He could hear the water running in the bathroom and he was mentally berating himself.

 _Fuck, fuck fuck, fuck, fuck! SO fucking stupid! You are so fucking stupid!_ He sighed heavily and stood up looking to the ceiling, chest tight with frustration. _I can’t believe I just did that. I can’t believe I touched her without thinking._

Harry groaned outward and slammed his fist into the counter. After _everything_ that had happened, all the moments between them – the touches, the looks, the closeness – he had _finally_ kissed her. She had _finally_ not run away. And then, he thought, _I completely fucked it up like a major arse_.

Since the night on the cliff when he had shared with her that he slept in a cupboard at the Dursley’s house he knew that the relationship between them had changed – at least it had from _his_ side. He’d never told that detail about his life to anyone, never trusted a single person enough to tell them that he blamed himself for the deaths of those around him but yet wanted to stay in the wizarding world. He’d never told anyone how terrible he felt about it, how blatantly _guilty_. The second he had stared into her eyes – he _knew_. He knew that he would never be able to look at her the same. He had wanted to kiss her right then and there, but he had held back, and kissed her cheek instead, being unsure of the new feelings and nervous that she might not feel the same. Hermione was incredibly logical, reserved and controlled, and Harry highly suspected that she would have reservations about acknowledging any feelings – whether for him or otherwise – while in the middle of a war. He was also concerned that the feelings might be one-sided.

So, Harry decided to watch Hermione. He watched her behaviours, cataloged her touches, her looks and her expressions – and slowly over the last month he began to notice a pattern, and he began to think that she might actually feel something too. She’d touch his arm when they spoke, sit close to him, lean her head on his shoulder, tangle her legs with his, blush and look to the ground when he complimented her, and he often saw her looking at him out of the corner of his eye while he read. When she let him crawl onto her bunk and sit with her while she was not feeling well, he took a risk and decided to run his thumb over her knee after she rested her legs across his – trusting her to object if she didn’t want the contact. But she didn’t object. When she took his hand during the meteor shower, his confidence in her feeling the same grew even further. It was impossible not to notice how the air got thicker around them, how time seemed to slow down and how her pulse quickened.

So, when they had successfully tested the shield spell, he was so ecstatic that he couldn’t stop himself from drawing her into a tight hug. He’d felt her heart racing as he held her, saw the blush creep over her face, the look in her eyes while she stared at him – and then he was certain, he _knew_ that she felt it too. He was going to kiss her out in the snow if she let him, but he saw the panic rise in her face when her mind registered what was happened and she chickened out and ran back to the tent.

Harry had stood in the snow for several minutes thinking, wondering what to do, how to proceed. Every time previous he had spared her nerves and pulled his face into a calm and typical expression before facing her again. Giving her room because he didn’t want to push her. But today… well today he wanted to confirm his suspicions. He wanted to know, he wanted her to acknowledge the situation that had developed between them and he wanted to see if she would accept an advance. He would _never_ push her into anything uncomfortable, and he would _never_ make her do anything she didn’t want to – but he wanted to see if she would acknowledge what was going on between them. So, he resolved to go back to the tent exactly as he was – to show her his emotions in full, to show her what he wanted.

During dinner she had been adorable, nervous and flustered and he thoroughly enjoyed the butterbeer and treacle tart she had placed out for them. When she abandoned ship for the second time that day to take the dishes to the counter, he could see the tension in her shoulders and feel the inner battle she was clearly waging. So, he decided to see what would happen if he pushed once more, gently, while still giving her room to escape if she wanted too. If she ran away again, he would drop it until this mess of a war was over.

But she didn’t run – she stayed. As he had approached her, closing the distance between them his heart was pounding and his body was rigid with nervousness. When he asked her if she wanted him to stop, the tension was palpable and he felt his heart was hanging in the balance, he didn’t know if he would be able to handle it if she rejected him. He’d respect it, but a small part of him would feel like it had been snuffed out. When he heard her say “no” – he couldn’t close the distance between them quick enough. She tasted like hope, like a cool drink on a hot summer day. He moved slowly against her first, afraid to startle her away, afraid to push her too far and make her uncomfortable, terrified that this unreal dream would vanish before him. He wanted her to be sure. But the second he heard her moan any nerves he’d been feeling faded away, pushed to the back of his mind quickly and their kiss escalated. It had been… well, it had been like nothing he had ever felt. His kisses with Ginny had _never_ felt like this, his kiss with Cho was a joke in comparison. Honestly, he didn’t even think he could count that kiss with Cho as a kiss anymore. This was heated, desperate, passionate, like gasping for air after being held underwater. He needed her, wanted her, needed to be closer and wanted to soak every inch of her into him.

Then without thinking, he ran his thumb under her shirt and over her scar – the second he felt it his mind skipped, and he jerked his hand. Not because of the texture, not because he cared about them – no – no, it was nothing like that. His hand jerked because he felt a pang in his heart as he touched it and _knew_ he had made a mistake. He felt her start to flinch the second his thumb grazed it and momentarily he thought if he moved his hand away quick enough, he would be able to do some damage control. But she’d flinched hard and pulled away so fast that he knew it was a lost cause. Instead she left his lips feeling lost and hungry while his mind chastised his action. 

And then to top it all off _she_ apologized to _him_ first. _She fucking apologized to me_ , he raged as he paced in the kitchen back and forth along the counter. _When I was the one who fucked up and made a mistake!_

She had nothing to apologize for, _nothing_. He was the one who got caught up in the moment, caught up in the feel of her body against his, the heat between them and the intensity of their kiss. He was the one who had touched her without thinking, without considering how it would make her feel. _I’m lucky she didn’t have a full-blown panic attack_ , he thought bitterly as he thumped back into his kitchen chair and thought about how she had reacted. He’d been concerned about Hermione since the day the injury happened. She had healed well and was stronger than ever – but wounds are more than physical. And based on the high-necked sweaters she continued to wear day and night he didn’t doubt that she still struggled with her appearance and acceptance of the scars. Not that he ever expected her to parade them around – but she took _exceptional_ care in ensuring that they were _always_ hidden.

 _What am I going to do?_ He’d dropped his head back into his hands again, elbows now resting on his knees.

He needed to apologize to her, he needed to explain to her that he didn’t care about her scars – he didn’t care how she looked. He had only just finally kissed her… and he did _not_ want to ruin it because he had fucked up. He needed to explain how he felt to her, he needed her to know that he was there for her, always, and that the scars didn’t matter. He wanted her. He wanted to know what could happen between them.

He knew the conversation would be difficult. Honestly, he wouldn’t be shocked if she stayed in the bathroom all night. He couldn’t imagine what was going through her head – and if she did come out, she would probably try to dismiss it and avoid talking about it. He’d considered this, but he needed to talk about it. _They_ needed to talk about it. They couldn’t live together in a tent hunting Horcruxes and walking on eggshells around each other. They needed to have the communication lines open, trust each other and work together. If Hermione never wanted to touch him again going forward – fine, he could deal with that. It would be painful, but he would manage. But he was absolutely not willing to sacrifice and hurt their relationship over this. After everything they had been through together _this_ was not going to ruin their incredible dynamic. He needed to ensure she wouldn’t be worrying that he might be disgusted by her scars – which was absurd.

He finally heard the water shut off as his mind settled on his course of action. _I’m not a fucking coward_ , he thought with determination. _I will not fuck this up further, I will fix this_.

He stood quickly and walked to the sink, grabbing the kettle, filling it with water and tapping it quickly with his wand to get it boiling. He reached in the cupboard and grabbed two clean mugs, throwing tea bags in them and then dumped the magically boiled water into each cup. He added one milk and two sugars to Hermione’s before adding a single sugar to his own. He had the mugs settled on the table and he was seated in his chair, back straight and determined when he heard the bathroom door open.

-x-x-

Hermione stepped out of the steaming room and walked on trembling legs toward the kitchen. She wasn’t sure what to expect, how Harry would be behaving, if he would be still in the kitchen or if he’d be out somewhere else. She honestly had no idea how to behave. She kept her eyes on the floor until she approached the table to see Harry stand up from his normal chair. Two steaming mugs of tea sat in the middle – she felt her heart thump painfully and noticed that he looked determined and slightly desperate.

“The shower is free,” she spoke quietly as her eyes flittered around Harry’s. She didn’t know where to look, she was nervous, and she felt her wand hand tremble. She grabbed the hem of her sweater gently, running the fabric between her thumb and finger to try and calm her nerves.

“Hermione,” Harry’s voice was soft but firm and called her eyes back to his with force. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you like that without asking first.”

“Harry – it’s fine, it’s not a big deal I-“ she responded quickly waving her hand to dismiss him but he cut her off.

“No, it’s not fine. Nothing about it was fine Hermione,” he was looking at her intently and had walked around the table to stand several feet in front of her. “I know that you’re uncomfortable with your scars, I know they make you self-conscious – I wasn’t thinking. I was so caught up in – in whatever this is that has been going on between us that I didn’t think. I didn’t think about how touching you might make you feel.”

Hermione hadn’t looked away from Harry, she was still snared by his gaze, but she flinched slightly as Harry mentioned her scars. She tried to dismiss the conversation, she didn’t want to hear excuses – she’d _felt_ him flinch, she didn’t want to talk about this. She didn’t know what it was that she wanted but she didn’t want to talk.

“Harry it’s fine, really, I don’t want to talk about this,” she had wrapped her arms around herself, defensively covering her chest.

“But I do Hermione,” he stood his ground firmly in front of her, ensuring that he gave her plenty of space. “I’m not going to let what happened ruin our relationship, I’m not going to let this sit and fester – I want you to know that I don’t care about your scars.”

Hermione snorted, scuffing the tent floor with one socked foot before turning her eyes to the ground.

“I don’t,” he said firmly, and she could feel the intensity of his gaze on her. “Do you think I’ll ever forget what you looked like lying in the muddy grass Hermione. The image of you torn open _haunts_ my dreams – I’ll never un-see it. It fucking _killed_ me to see you like that. I thought I was going to lose you.”

Tears had started to form in her eyes, her vision wavered as she stared down at her thick fuzzy blue socks. She knew Harry had seen them, but he had still flinched when he touched her. She didn’t want to hear this – she didn’t want to talk about this. She didn’t even know what _this_ was.

“I’ve already seen them – I treated them, I had to pull the shredded bits of your shirt and jacket out of them. I saw what they looked like at their worst, I’ll never forget it, and I still _want_ you,” Hermione twitched at this – but she shook her head as her shoulders began to tremble and Harry pushed forward, his voice rising slightly. “I don’t _care_ about what your scars look like. The only thing I care about is _you,_ Hermione – and the fact that I’m a fucking idiot and didn’t consider how you would react, how you would feel when I touched you. It’s not like I haven't noticed that you’ve transfigured every shirt you own into a high neck sweater, I have no excuse for not thinking about it, I just got caught up in the moment. I only pulled my hand away because I realized my mistake and I felt you flinch – I knew I couldn’t fix it. But I touched you because I _wanted_ to.”

At this Hermione’s eyes shot up to Harry’s as a single tear fell down her cheek. Harry was looking at her with a look of agony and Hermione’s heart stuttered in her chest. _He flinched because he was concerned?_ Her mind reeled over his words and she found herself trying to wrap her head around the possibility that Harry hadn’t flinched in disgust.

“You don’t have to believe me Hermione – but I need you to _know_ that I _want_ you, I want to figure this out and I _don’t_ care about your scars.”

A small sound escaped her lips that sounded like a suppressed sob and Harry stepped toward her slowly as Hermione continued to clutch herself. Her chest was constricting again – _no_ , she thought, _how could he want me._

“I don’t – I don’t know how you feel Hermione, I don’t know what’s been going through your head these last few weeks, but I feel like things have changed between us,” he clenched his hands tightly at his sides and his nerves hit him as he approached the real crux of his speech. “And I _know_ you’ve felt it too. I’ve seen it on your face… in how you look at me.”

His voice dropped lower as he stepped only but a foot away from her now and Hermione dropped her eyes to stare into his chest, unable to breathe.

“If I’m wrong, or if you aren’t comfortable with anything – If you don’t want anything – that’s okay Hermione,” he tentatively reached a hand out to touch her shoulder and she could feel a slight tremble in his fingers. “I don’t know what shifted between us. And I don’t know what this means for us going forward – but I need you to know that I don’t care about your scars Hermione. I just care about you and – and I want to see where this could go.”

A sob broke through her lips and Harry barely heard the quiet words that escaped her.

“…I’m disgusting...”

Harry let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and pulled her shoulder gently towards him, and she let her head fall on his chest. Her arms were still clutched to her own body and they were now pinned between them as he circled his arms tightly around her and rested his lips to the top of her head.

“Hermione,” he breathed out in a hush. “You _are_ _not_ disgusting. _They_ are not disgusting.”

He felt her tremble slightly and her head shook gently against his chest. He pulled her tighter and leaned his lips down toward her ear.

“Hermione, you are _perfect_. You’re – you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

She stiffened but stopped shaking her head against him and he heard her inhale quickly.

“You’re just saying that,” she whispered.

“No, I’m not,” he pulled her tighter to his chest and breathed out a long low sigh. “I swear to you, I’m not just saying that. I know you don’t believe me – not yet – but I’m not lying. And I’d like the opportunity to show you how little I care about them.”

Hermione stood still against him, the last words he spoke were barely above a whisper and they made a chill run down her spine. Her stomach knotted, he’d spoken in that voice – the deep baritone that had made the heat in her core ignite earlier. She shivered against him, his words and his voice were convincing, they made her body respond and believe that he meant what he said.

She buried her face into his chest, breathing him in. It calmed her. His warmth and the tightness with which he held her made her feel safe. She trusted Harry implicitly, she always had, and she desperately wanted to believe him – it was difficult against the chant of _how could he want me?_ that was circling at the back of her head – but she forced her mind to stick to logic, to facts. He had already seen them, she knew this, and he _did_ touch her anyway. He had noticed the closeness between them and allowed it to grow while knowing she was mangled. He’d touched her, held her, and been close to her all the while knowing that she was hiding under her transfigured sweaters. She willed the voice in her head which kept claiming _he must have forgotten how bad they were and was reminded when he touched them_ to shut up the fuck up and worked to clear her mind.

This was _her_ problem, and she knew it. She knew Harry, she trusted Harry and he wouldn’t be holding her like this and speaking with that voice if he didn’t mean it. She wanted to believe him – had to believe him – or at least give him the benefit of the doubt. She needed to deal with her low self-confidence regarding the scars on her own – this was _her_ problem to resolve. 

Her stomach knotted a little as she nuzzled her nose against him softly. She’d enjoyed the feel of Harry’s body against hers – obviously. _My moaning is a testament to that_ , she thought somewhat embarrassed. She’d never made those sounds before. She’d liked the way he tasted, the way he moved against her, the way her held her and pressed into her. She too wanted to see where things would go – except that it scared her.

They were in the middle of a war, they had a huge responsibility to find Horcruxes and destroy them before Voldemort got stronger, before things got worse – and they had no idea where to start. They needed to be focused, they needed to practice and be prepared. She didn’t think it was appropriate to explore a change in their relationship right now – no matter how badly she wanted to, or how _right_ it felt. That was the whole reason why she had resolved to do nothing. This kiss, no matter how pleasant, was distracting. Anything more than snogging would be even more distracting – and they could not afford to be distracted. That would be irresponsible – and Hermione was nothing if not responsible.

Harry had stood holding her while her mind sifted through her thoughts, it was several minutes before she spoke again with a tremble in her voice.

“Harry I – I’m afraid,” she breathed out against him, her voice but a mummer against his sweater. “I’m afraid of this – I don’t want to lose what we have. I – I don’t want to get distracted from our mission and what we need to do, but –“

The words caught in her throat and she trembled slightly against him. She knew what she wanted to say but her courage was faltering. Harry had just all but laid his heart out on the table to her – _Don’t be a coward_ she thought as she tried to settle her racing mind.

“I’m afraid that you won’t actually want me if – if you saw it. I know what you said, and I know that you’ve seen them – I know that this is my problem and it’s in my head – but I can’t help it. I can’t help but be terrified that you’d change your mind. W-when you touched me it – it made me panic,” her voice shook again before she continued. “It brought everything back Harry all of it, and I – I don’t know how to be comfortable with it, or how to deal with it.”

Cautiously she raised her head to look at him and he loosened his grip so he could pull back to see her face more clearly.

“Harry, I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know what _this_ is – we’re in the middle of a war – we need to focus but I – I,” she looked at him desperately before speaking in a low whisper. “But I can’t help but want you too.”

Harry’s heart hammered in his chest and his hands gripped her more firmly – she’d said that she wanted him too.

“I don’t know how to process this Harry,” she took a step back but gripped the front of his sweater gently with one hand. “Harry what happened was… it was intense I – I don’t know if we can – I don’t know if it is a good idea. Not that I don’t want to, I do – I’m just not sure that we _should_ – we need to focus and be responsible. We need to find these Horcruxes. I’m worried that if we do anything, anything other than what we have been it will be a distraction. And I clearly, need to deal with these scars and with what happened. I don’t want to fuck this up Harry.”

Harry nodded slowly, he understood. It made his heart ache a little, but it was exactly what he was expecting. While he didn’t know if they were destined to be with each other forever, he did know that he cared for her in a way that he had never cared about anyone previously – not even the way he _thought_ he felt about Ginny.

“Hermione,” he said gently, moving his thumb gently over her upper arm. “It’s okay. I get it – things are all over the place right now.”

She nodded slowly, still gripping him tight and searching his face.

“I don’t want things to change between us,” he looked at her intently and then gave her a small smile. “I’ll be right here, always, whenever you need me – whenever or if ever you want me. I won’t ever push for anything Hermione and I promise to give you space to deal with what you need to. But – I want you to know I…I would like to figure _this_ out, to see where this goes. _This_ Hermione, is exactly why we’re fighting, it’s exactly why Remus and Tonks – and Fleur and Bill are together as they are even though we’re at war. It makes them stronger – it gives them something to fight for… just something to think about.”

Hermione’s hand twitched slightly against his sweater and her eyes dropped. She hadn’t thought of that. The only thing that had been running through her mind aside from her panic over her scars was the danger of her and Harry being _too close_ while they were on a mission. She had never considered that allowing closeness could be seen as a benefit. She’d only ever considered the negative.

“Let’s have some tea,” Harry said gently as he pulled himself away and she let his sweater slip through her fingers. She felt cold again, without him near and watched as he backed up toward the table, giving her an encouraging smile.

Harry sat down lightly in his seat, ensuring that his feet were tucked neatly under his chair. _There_ , he thought as he reached for his tea mug. _I made the first move, I’ve confirmed that she feels it too, and now it’s her decision how we go forth. I won’t push anything else, I’ll leave this to her_.

Slowly she walked toward him to take her seat. True to his word, she noticed that his knees did not bump hers under the table – _it feels empty,_ she noted. Harry re-heated the tea mugs with his wand and fished a small bag of biscuits out of her purse before taking a bite of one himself.

They ate and drank their tea somewhat quietly, Hermione nibbling the biscuits and listening to Harry talk about how he thought he could work to extend his protection charm. She nodded her head and responded to the conversation, but the back of her mind churned on a different topic – mulling over the possibility that being with Harry, seeing what was between them, could perhaps _maybe_ not be a bad thing.

-x-x-

The next week passed rather uneventfully and their typical schedule was unchanged. Hermione and Harry resumed their exercise routine, read, researched, practiced spells, duelled, ate, slept, guarded the tent in turns and managed to increase their shielding spell time by 2 minutes each. Harry could now produce a full body mobile shield for 9 minutes and Hermione could manage 7 minutes before the hum disappeared and they were once again left vulnerable. Harry had been right, the stronger they became physically the easier the shield was to produce as the shield seemed to be linked to their overall stamina. Hermione had suggested clearing their minds before casting it almost as a sort of meditation to ensure focus on the target and intent. That seemed to make the spell more potent – she noted that the dark purple became deeper the better their concentration was and it contributed to its duration as well. They determined if they kept at it they should be able to continue to increase the duration of their shields and made a goal of each reaching over 10 minutes.

Outside, the snow continued to fall and gathered deeply around their tent. Seeing as it was the last weekend in November, they fully expected the weather to continue to get worse – so they opted to use more water-repelling charms and warming charms while they practiced outside, unwilling to sacrifice their training due to bad weather.

One thing that had changed, Hermione noted, was the touches and closeness between them – or rather, the lack thereof. Harry had not faltered on his promise to give her space. He no longer sat exactly right next to her while they had tea, and instead sat a friendly distance away. He didn’t touch her lower back when he walked around her or reach to grab her hand while they spoke. No, Harry had consciously worked to ensure he kept his hands and feet to himself. He even stopped using the footstool so that Hermione could have the thing entirely to herself.

As the time went on though Hermione couldn’t help but miss the contact. While she appreciated Harry giving her space and staying determinedly focused on their mission – she was actually finding it more distracting having to _think_ about her actions and keep her hands to herself than it was to simply let herself be near him naturally. She found herself thinking that their closeness and previous behaviours had felt _normal_ whereas this artificial distance between them was what felt _off_ and _strange_. She didn’t speak anything about it to Harry, but she mulled it over as each day passed. She missed his warmth, she missed feeling his laugh reverberate through her as he leaned against her. Their interactions were still warm and kind and her feelings were still obviously present, it was just as if someone had put up a barrier between them… and she found that she didn’t really like it.

As they rounded to the second week Hermione started forcing herself to not only stare at her scarred reflection in the mirror when she went to shower but also to touch the scars gently. She repeated this process whenever she changed clothes as well. She had gotten used to _tolerating_ the scars while she showered but she had never actually spent any time with them to _accept_ them. After her excessive reaction to Harry’s touch – she could no longer ignore the fact that she had not spent a sufficient enough time actually dealing with what happened and accepting her injuries, so she resolved to correct that regardless of whether or not anyone would ever see them. She forced herself not to frown when she looked at them – instead she forced her lips into a smile while reminding herself of the things that she liked about herself and the things that she was happy for. _I’m glad I didn’t die,_ was the first thought she conjured.

After that a string of others ran through her head and she found that day by day it was easier and easier to think of things. _I’m happy I didn’t lose any limbs. I’m happy that the scars run in between my breasts and not through them, that would have been much worse. I’m happy that there are no lingering dark magic effects. I’m happy that it wasn’t my face. I’m happy that I can cover them if I want to. I’m thankful that I still have my magic. I’m glad that the redness and distortion held so close to the scars themselves and that it didn’t span out to cover more of my skin, so it’s just three distinct lines. I’m thankful that they healed and won’t break open again. I’m happy that I’m physically fit and able to still move around without hindrance. I’m glad there is no permanent damage to my body that disadvantaged me. _

By the time December 5th rolled around Hermione was standing in front of the mirror thinking, _I’m happy that I still look decent._ And at that, she found herself smiling the first genuine smile she had made during this exercise – no longer having to force the smile to her face while she stared at the marks which covered her body. Perhaps she’d just become more accustomed to them, more used to them being there from staring at them intently over the last week and a bit – but she couldn’t help but feel like they didn’t look quite as bad anymore. She grinned at the foggy mirror and then reached for her long-sleeved dark charcoal grey sweater, it used to be a modest v-neck, but she had transfigured it to a turtle neck after the attack. She rolled the fabric through her fingers. She hated this long-sleeved shirt as a turtle neck, mostly because she wasn’t a big fan of turtle necks, but also because this shirt’s fabric always seemed to itch her neck a little more than her other ones. She shrugged her plaid pajama pants on while she stared the long-sleeved charcoal sweater down, pausing her hand as she grabbed to put it on.

With a moment's hesitation she transfigured the sweater back to its original shape and threw it on, pausing only a moment when she caught her reflection in the mirror – you could see the top scar cut across the bottom of the v-shaped neck. Not by a large amount, but it was plainly visible. She quickly grabbed a hair clip and clipped her hair out of her face. She was tired of sleeping in turtle necks and high-necked shirts – they were uncomfortable and always made her feel like she was being choked while she slept. She wanted to be comfortable. It was over 2 months since the attack, and frankly she thought, _I’d like a night of sleep where I don’t have dreams of being choked or smothered._ She turned to the door before she could change her mind.

When she walked into the kitchen to have her nightly tea with Harry he looked up as he heard her approach – his eyes only just briefly registering her v-neck shirt. His eyes flicked to her chest, then up to her eyes and a look she couldn’t quite decipher crossed his face. Her stomach rolled over nervously as she started to regret her decision and her dark grey socked feet slowed – immediately becoming self-conscious her hand instinctively raising to grab the collar of her shirt. But then she realized that Harry was grinning at her – _beaming_ would probably be a better way to describe it. His eyes were on hers, not her chest, and he didn’t look away from them as he spoke.

“Made your tea,” he said with happiness, she noted a slight edge of excitement in his voice.

Hermione took a breath and forced her hand to lower from where it hovered in front of her chest with fingers still outstretched mid grab, and then she made her feet keep walking. Harry’s eyes remained on her face only.

“Thank you,” her voice was a bit reserved with nervousness, but he saw her shoulders relax a fraction as she took her seat.

“Of course,” he continued to grin at her but grabbed his own mug and took a sip. “So, I went through our supply list while you were in the shower.”

Hermione smiled as she grabbed her own mug. Harry was probably the only person she would trust to properly update and catalogue their supply list and she was very pleased that he’d taken the initiative to look at it himself. Prior to Ron leaving she seemed to be the only one concerned with ensuring they had food and supplies. But now… well, now Harry was a very different person. They both were.

“Thanks, Harry, we’re going to need to do another run again aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded at her.

“I figured as much, I’ve been keeping track of it mentally,” she sighed as she held her mug tightly in her fingers. “I suppose we should do that before we leave this hillside. There is a small town just to the East. We can slip in tomorrow night before we leave and get supplies.”

“That’s what I was thinking as well,” Harry had pulled out her map and spread it on the table. “If we pack up around midnight, we can walk there by 2 am and gather whatever we need.”

They discussed through the plan and agreed they would leave the snowy hillside they’d come to three days ago tomorrow night. Hermione couldn’t help the nervous tremble that overtook her hands as they continued to plan their approach – they would be breaking into a chain grocery store located in a small plaza at the edge of town. She sincerely hoped that her face didn’t betray her and express the anxiety that she had over what happened last time they went to get supplies.

As she went to go take first watch Harry gently grabbed her arm. It was the first time he had touched her since they’d kissed two weeks ago, and her body responded desperately. She could feel her pulse racing as she looked into his eyes.

“Hermione, we’ll be okay,” he was looking at her intently. “We’re better prepared this time. Nothing is going to happen tomorrow night. I promise.”

“I know,” her voice was quiet and sounded unsure, so she added a firm nod to show her agreement.

Harry smiled and squeezed her arm firmly before he turned to go to his bunk. Hermione stood there for a moment before she realized that she was holding the upper arm that Harry had touched with her other hand. Shaking her head, she grabbed her winter jacket and went to stand outside the tent for her first watch. Her heart was racing, and her stomach was knotted. Harry’s touch had done this, and the look that had been in his eyes when he promised that nothing would happen made her shiver. She sat on a small tree stump and cast a warming charm before curling into herself a bit. She was still nervous – she couldn’t help it. But Harry was right. They were far better prepared if they were to be attacked and she felt confident that they would keep each other safe. She trusted Harry, she trusted her own abilities and she knew that they would be fine.

-x-x-

The next day passed like a blur. They’d gathered and packed early and spent the afternoon practicing some defensive and offensive magic. It helped calm Hermione’s nerves as she waited for midnight – she was anxious to get this done and over with. When midnight finally arrived, they packed up the tent quickly and efficiently and began walking toward the town. Harry’s estimate was almost bang on, they arrived at the plaza just before 2 am.

The plaza was deserted, and the fluffy snow fell heavily around them. When they got within 200 meters of the plaza they’d covered themselves with the invisibility cloak before proceeding through the empty parking lot and around to the back alleyway to enter the emergency exit door. They were both tense, and Hermione gripped the back of Harry’s jacket tightly at the collar as he led them through the alley and then unlocked the door. It was quiet, calm and beautiful out – but Hermione knew better than to trust it. She knew better than to let her guard down. _Not this time_ , she thought as they crept through the door.

They spent over an hour in the store, following the same routine they had the last time they got supplies. Gathering much-needed food, toiletries, soap, and necessities. Hermione grabbed extra of everything, filling every container she had and using her food storage spells so things would keep longer. She wanted to avoid having to make any more supply runs than necessary. Hermione tallied the cost of their items as they went, and they stopped at the cash register to deposit their money prior to leaving. As they crept through the back exit to return to the alley they both moved cautiously, slowly, and kept their eyes and ears open for any sign of movement – but nothing happened. They reached the outskirts of the parking lot and quickly removed the cloak. Hermione held Harry’s shoulder as he crouched to put the cloak away in his bag. She’d immediately slipped her hand down the collar of his jacket before he had even bent over – you needed direct physical contact to side apparate and she would be damned if she wasn’t prepared for a second attack. She didn’t move an inch from him, and he could feel her leg next to his side as he tucked the cloak away. The second it was secured he gave her the signal.

“We’re good,” he said quickly, not even bothering to stand up. Hermione gripped his shoulder more tightly and apparated them away to a forest before he could even move a muscle.

The forest she brought them to was in central England, but still remote and deserted. They both breathed a sigh of relief as Hermione dropped her hand from his shoulder and stepped away from him to grab her purse and locate the tent. Hermione’s skill with apparition had improved to the point that he hardly felt anything, they’d shown up exactly as they left the plaza, Harry crouched by Hermione’s side. Standing slowly, he had to resist the urge he had to hug her and instead gave her a huge grin.

“See,” he said as he touched the side of her arm once gently. “Nothing happened.”

She grinned back at him, suppressing the urge to hug him as her stomach fluttered. Harry dropped his hand and slung his pack over his back and then her eyes narrowed as she started to turn her head.

“Harry do you hear-“ she didn’t finish her sentence, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and she saw a flash from her peripherals. Knowing there wasn’t time to grab Harry directly – what with their thick winter jackets – her mind quickly calculated, and she chose the next best option.

Hermione shoved Harry back with more force than he thought was physically possible. _Someone so small could not possibly be that strong_ , he thought briefly as he fell backwards and the ground between them exploded.

He drew his wand and saw that Hermione already had hers out, she was crouched several feet away in front of him as she’d rolled backwards to dodge the explosion. Turning his head to the left he saw the shape of two wizards running towards them in the darkness and one creature that was hunched over and moving much more quickly than the rest.

 _Fuck_.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle on the hilltop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. And this chapter is brought to you by guilt, and the fact that I felt bad leaving the last chapter as I did… so I tried to get it done as efficiently as possible. I hope that you are all having a good day and I hope that you enjoy Chapter 10!  
> 2\. I love all your faces <3  
> 3\. There may not be post on Sunday... have some stuff and things that need attention. But I'll try my very best.
> 
> Feedback/comments are always appreciated. I read them all and use them to improve, I only ask that you please be constructive with your criticisms and kind with your words – after all, there are an infinite number of ways to tell a tale and this is just *one* story that I am writing for fun.
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe. 
> 
> Updates on Sunday +/- a few days.

**General Warnings**

explicit language, violence, dark themes, sad themes, PTSD like symptoms, blood and gore, bad situations, explicit smut (but not PWP and chapters with smut will be flagged so you know to watch for it and can skip over it if you prefer), mercy killings, potential character deaths, difficult/controversial topics, torture, interrogation and war. Please read the tags and please read individual chapter warnings.

***********************************

Hermione had fired three spells before Harry had even rolled to crouch facing their attackers. She hit one of the two wizards square in the chest and he crumpled to the ground instantly as the stunning spell knocked him out. The other was more agile and had dodge her second and third attack by rolling to the right. More concerning, Harry noted, was the large werewolf that was galloping toward them – eyes enraged, snarling and with – Harry noticed it this time, a glint of gold reflecting from the band that circled its front wrist with every step it took.

Hermione and Harry simultaneously hit the werewolf with a stunning spell before they had to roll and dodge a second explosion that the remaining wizard had cast. The werewolf faltered, its front legs going limp momentarily and it bashed its face into the ground before the creature regained its balance and lunged toward them. They dove further apart, and Hermione cursed the distance between them and the cold weather – had he not been bundled up for the winter she could have grabbed him much more easily to apparate away before this happened. Though, she knew that there had been a risk that the explosion spell the snatcher cast might have got caught up in her apparition – which would have been devastating. So right now, she needed to focus and get them out of this situation. She pushed her panic down as she rolled instinctively to the right to avoid a flash of white and heard the sound of a chain wrap tightly around the tree behind her. Whoever this fucker was he clearly hadn’t decided if he was trying to kill them or capture them.

The werewolf had turned its attention to Harry, and he was currently dodging and running, and jumping away from its claws as he cast spell after spell toward it. His reflexes were faster and more accurate than the last encounter and he didn’t allow the werewolf to catch him on his back like the one in the alley had, instead he lingered in a crouched position as he dodged and attacked – moving farther and farther down the slight incline of the forest.

Hermione cast two stunning spells and a disarming spell at the wizard before running up the slight incline and jumping high over a fallen branch and one of the snatcher’s explosion spells. She landed hard and rolled to her feet before casting an explosion at the tree that the snatcher had ducked behind. It exploded forcefully and Hermione internally thanked her ability to cast non-verbal spells – the advantage was greater than she’d appreciated while just practicing with Harry. Non-verbals were quicker and gave her the element of surprise. Unlike the snatcher who cried his disarming spell as he recovered from the explosion that had knocked him several feet from the tree. She was ready for it though and rolled forward under it before managing to catch the side of his face with a carefully aimed _diffindo_. She heard him cry out as his right cheek split open and blood spattered the snow-covered ground next to him leaving behind a vibrant red streak. His eyes were wild, his hair a disaster and she noticed a gold glint from his wrist as he raised his wand. She saw the words begin to form on his lips before he could speak and she lowered herself, building energy in her legs before pushing off to roll to the left as he cast a killing spell at where she had been standing.

 _Fuck!_ She thought as she rolled behind a tree stump, her back thumping hard against it as she stayed crouched low to the ground. The bright green of the spell streaked by and her heart hammered – this had escalated _quickly_ and her adrenaline was making her brain and body work double-time to keep up. She tossed a leg locker and stunning spell around the tree stump before throwing herself again further left to avoid the next explosion sent by the snatcher. He’d missed, hitting two feet away from where she’d been but the debris flew violently into the air as she hunched behind a larger tree, hoping that the flying snow and bits of tree stump might cover her location for a moment. Her mind was racing, she needed to get to Harry, needed to apparate them away from this place before they got hurt. Everything was happening so fast they hadn’t even been able to use their shield charm – she knew there was no way they would be concentrated and calm enough to cast it with everything that was going on. They’d been so _careful_ and so _vigilant_ during their supply run only to run into fucking snatchers and a werewolf at the first place they landed. _This was just unbelievably bad fucking luck,_ her mind raged.

Hearing the snatcher advancing from her left, her eyes quickly glanced down the slight incline toward Harry who was still fending off the werewolf and she noticed that his left arm hung somewhat limply at his side. He ducked another lunge from the werewolf and rolled to his right further away from her and clutched his arm briefly as he rose back into a crouch position before casting a _diffindo_ at the creature and slicing it across its side. It was in that moment that a small amount of light from the almost completely cloud covered night’s sky managed to sneak through the trees and reflect off the snow that she saw the wet red stain that spattered Harry’s arm and the pained expression on his face. Time seemed to slow down, her eyes widened as she saw the wolf stumble briefly from the injury but turn quickly to face Harry. Harry stepped back and his foot caught in a branch on the ground. She knew what was going to happen before it did – Harry was going to slip and the werewolf would be ready.

And something inside her snapped.

“NO!”

The words were screamed from her mouth before she had even realized it. She felt rage boil up from the deepest darkest depths of her soul, it coursed through her like nothing she’d ever felt before. Her heart hammered, her face contorted, her eyes hardened – and in that moment, Hermione took her empathy, her emotional side and her constant need to do what was _right_ and stuffed it into a small safe little box in the corner of her mind. For it had no place here. Her body moved before she even realized what she was doing

She heard the snatcher approach beside her and start to cast an explosive spell but she’d already pushed off the tree behind her, throwing herself forward, rolling once before she popped up to her knee and turned back to the snatcher. Her eyes flashed with raw anger, her wand moved before her brain connected the dots and the word screamed from her mouth.

“ _SECTUMSEMPRA_!”

The snatchers eyes went wide as his wand arm was torn violently from his body and a huge slash ripped his chest open – but she’d already turned her wand back to Harry and the werewolf. He was on his back, the werewolf was on top of him and Harry’s left forearm was latched in its mouth. He aimed his wand and hit it with a _diffindo_ across the chest, its blood pouring down onto him.

Hermione’s wand was pointed while her mind immediately ruled out another _sectumsempra_ or _diffindo_ for fear of hitting Harry and instead latched on to what she _knew_ would work. She focused her rage, her fear and her desire to stop the creature – then cried out.

“ _Plenus-Protego-corPus-LoComotor_!”

A dark red spark with a white hot center shot from her wand and flew at the werewolf, encasing it before it became completely invisible.

A desperate roar of agony erupted from the werewolf as it dropped Harry’s arm and collapsed withering on the ground next to him. Hermione’s ears felt like they were bleeding from the horrific sounds that poured from its muzzle as she pushed off the ground and tore down the incline toward Harry. He’d rolled away and stood up before pointing his wand at it and slitting its throat with a muttered spell.

“HARRY!”

Hermione quickly closed the distance between them, running faster than she thought possible and leapt over a broken branch before skidding to a stop at Harry’s side. She grabbed his outstretched wand hand, aiming her own at the creature’s body as rapid, shuddering breathes wracked through her.

“I’m okay,” his breaths were coming in rasps and he leaned into her side, not taking his eyes off the now quiet werewolf. “It’s dead.”

She dropped her wand slowing before turning quickly to face him.

“Are you alright? Harry – your arm,” she was running her hands all over him, his chest, his arms, his face – ensuring her was alright everywhere else before immediately re-focusing to his left arm. Her eyes examined the shredded material on his left side, and he winced as she began removing his jacket to see the damage.

“It’s not that bad,” he grimaced as she removed his sleeve with a seam splitting spell and peeled away the jacket. “I managed to cast a shield.”

“You cast a shield?” Hermione’s hands had momentarily stopped moving over his arm as her eyes locked desperately and incredulously to Harry’s. “ _When_ did you cast a shield!?”

He laughed gently as she resumed inspecting his arm and quickly pulled a cleaning potion, essence of dittany and silver powder out of her purse.

“It wasn’t a very good one,” he winced again as she dowsed his arm in cleaning potion and charmed away the excess blood that covered his body to see the wounds better. “I – I wasn’t able to focus enough, so it was weak but, I cast it just as I felt my foot get stuck – before I fell. At least it stopped the werewolf from actually taking a bite of my arm.”

“Harry,” she breathed out as she now covered his arm in essence of dittany and silver powder, being sure to cover every single portion of his open wound before she looked up at him again. “Harry’s that’s – that’s – I can’t believe you managed it! I thought – I thought it bit you, I – I thought I might lose you!”

Her eyes watered and she threw her arms around his waist and pulled him into her tightly. He groaned a bit painfully into her neck and patted her gently on the back with his wand hand before she stepped back quickly, but she grabbed and held the front of his jacket tightly.

“Sorry,” she winced as she looked at him. “I was so worried, I thought that you’d been bitten – I – I wasn’t sure I’d get to you in time. You’re sure you weren’t bitten?”

“Nah, not this time,” he grinned at her. “Just a scratch. But I think my forearm where it had me is bruised something bad – because holy hell it hurts like a fucking bitch.”

Hermione’s gaze travelled down his arm, confirming that there were no puncture wounds. She smiled up at him, still clutching his jacket firmly as her eyes poured over him, devouring his features like she hadn’t seen him in years. She reached a hand up to the side of his face and stroked his cheekbone gently, the intensity of her eyes making his stomach turn over. Before he could do anything else though, he saw her eyes sharpen as her mind flicked like a switch and refocused.

“Harry sit here, your arm is closed – you won’t keep bleeding, but grab some blood replenishing potion from my bag okay? I need to look at your wounds more closely, but I need to go take care of the guy we stunned first – I’ll be right back.”

Harry had only just started to nod when she turned and started running back up the slight incline, muttering _lumos_ so she could see better. The snow had begun to fall again, and the forest seemed eerily quiet and gave no hint of the battle that they had just waged. Only the broken and shattered trees, and the large gaping holes in the ground provided any evidence of what had occurred. She cast a quick _homenum_ _revelio_ as she went to ensure there would be no further surprises – but nothing appeared. She reached the stunned snatcher quickly, having cut across to the right at a run to locate him. He lay face down in the snow rather awkwardly over a dead branch. She hit him with another _stupefy_ , and then a _petrificus_ _totalus_ before she rolled him over and _obliviated_ his memories. Searching him quickly she noted that he carried nothing useful on his person, just the wand that was still gripped tightly in his hand and a few loose coins. Her movements were robotic as she checked his pockets and then straightened to run over to where the second snatcher was.

He wasn’t hard to find. As she approached, she could see the crimson of blood-soaked deeply into the snow – small patches slowly being covered by the new fluffy flakes. Her heart stammered and her pulse quickened as the pool of blood got larger. She then saw the stub of the snatcher’s arm, bone protruding awkwardly, and his body stiff and laying in the cold snow. His eyes were open, they stared blankly at the sky. _They’re blue_ , she noted. She didn’t need to check or cast a diagnostic to know that he was dead. Her stomach lurched and she clamped her mouth shut with her hand as she gagged slightly. Thankfully, there was no smell – just the surreal image of red against white in a deathly quiet forest as his empty eyes looked up at nothing.

Willing herself not to throw up everywhere, she lowered into a crouch and brushed her fingers over his eyes to close them. She robotically searched his body, ignoring her unease and hoping to find something useful – she came across two scraps of paper and a ticket stub, she pocketed them quickly before standing up to scan the area. Her legs trembled when her eyes landed on the detached arm laying several feet from his body and she saw a thin gold bracelet on the wrist. Forcing her stiffening legs to move, she walked toward it.

-x-x-

Harry sat on the small broken branch watching the light from Hermione’s wand bob around on the hill before him. He’d cast a quick diagnostic charm and determined he needed to drink half a bottle of blood replenishing potion. He’d drank it quickly, repacking the bottle before turning his own lit wand to examine his arm. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been, and nothing in comparison to what Hermione had gotten during their last werewolf encounter – he would have lost his arm had his full body shield not formed fast enough. His arm still ached and hung awkwardly from his shoulder, he frowned at it before casting a second quick diagnostic charm that Hermione had taught him.

“Ahhh,” he said with a grimace. “Well that makes sense.”

He’d broken his humerus. He fully expected that the wounds would continue to ache something terrible for the next little while as he healed, but he had been sitting there wondering why his arm still hung pathetically and he couldn’t move it around very well. He looked back up to see Hermione’s light lingering in one spot just up the hill for a while – he would get her to fix it when she returned. Not trusting himself to do it while in so much pain. The light lingered still longer and he was just about to call out to her when it finally started bobbing its way back to him.

-x-x-

Hermione’s face was tight and tense when she stepped into the light of Harry’s wand, he noticed that her eyes looked hardened and closed but yet her hand trembled gently as she reached to inspect Harry’s arm.

“Harry, I think you’re arm might be broken,” she said with focus, but he didn’t miss the slight quiver that her voice held as she spoke.

“It is,” he said calmly, but grabbed her hand with his right stopping her movement. “Hermione what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, pulling her hand away and refusing to meet his eyes. “I’ll fix your arm.”

“Hermione,” he caught her wrist again and held it firmly. Staring at her intently until her eyes finally met his. “We’re not doing this, okay? We’re not shutting down – _talk_ to me – tell me what’s wrong. My arm’s already broken, it’s not going anywhere. We have time.”

She stood still and unmoving, her eyes searching his, jaw clenched, and fist balled at her side.

“Harry I –“ she faltered and her eyes dropped down to his chest as her arm shook. “I killed him.”

Harry dropped her wrist and reached for her shoulder, pulling her into her chest. She didn’t cry, she wouldn’t cry – she honestly wasn’t even sure that she _could_ cry for a snatcher who followed _you know who_ , but her emotions still felt all over the place. She was desperate to never let go of Harry again, her stomach knotted over the bloodied image of the dead snatcher, her soul ached from worry that she’d almost lost Harry and her mind was racing and heart was pounding from the adrenaline that had been coursing through her body. She felt disconnected and disjointed, like her brain couldn’t process what she’d done.

“It’s okay Hermione,” he said gently to her, stroking her back with his hand. “It’s okay you didn’t do anything – “

“I did Harry,” she cut him off, surprised by how even and level toned her voice was. “I did do it – it wasn’t an accident – I used dark magic Harry – I – I used _sectumpemra_. I had to… I did it intentionally Harry, this wasn’t a misfire.”

“Hermione,” he said as he pushed her away from him gently to look at her face. “You didn’t do anything other than what you had to.”

Her eyes softened, and she eyed him warily. He could see the unease in her stance, the desperation and turmoil inside her as she tried to process the situation. On one hand – she had just killed someone, _intentionally._ On the other hand – she’d helped save them and it was hard to mourn the death of one of _you_ _know_ _who_ ’s followers. One that would have killed them if she hadn’t gotten him first.

“If you didn’t do what you did, we might not still be here. I’m not saying that we should be proud of using every tool that we have to fight this war – some take a toll and some are just terrible. But they’re tools, and you did what you had to do. We’ll work through this together okay? I – I used it too,” his voice dropped at the last sentence and Hermione’s eyes shifted to the dead werewolf a few feet away from them. Its head was almost completely detached from its body – a _diffindo_ would not have been strong enough to do that sort of damage.

“I know,” she said quietly, her eyes turning back to his. “I’m sorry Harry.”

“Me too,” and he meant it.

She stared at him for a moment longer, knees getting colder in the snow and she knelt before Harry’s sitting form. The desperation was still evident in her face. Her eyes finally travelled back to his arm.

“I’ll fix your arm quickly – and then let’s get out of here,” her eyes refocused as she pushed the inner turmoil back to the depths of her mind. She needed to remain focused and get them out of here. Now was not the time to be a pathetic or naïve child. She’d boxed that up earlier to do what needed to be done – and she would keep it boxed until they were safe.

She cast her own diagnostic spell quickly to assess the break and then healed it just as fast. Harry smiled as he noted that his arm didn’t hang limply from his side any more, he could move it, but it still ached. She clutched his hand firmly before meeting his eyes again.

“Before we go, just one more thing,” she didn’t let go of his wand hand, and instead pulled him to his feet.

Her eyes were determined, and she walked them both toward the dead carcass of the werewolf. Grabbing her purse with her only free hand she _accioed_ a black metal box and opened it with her wand – inside was a slim gold band. Carefully, she then used her wand to remove the golden band from the werewolf’s wrist and placed it inside the box with the other – never once touching it directly. She closed the box with her wand and placed several protection spells on it before stuffing it back into her purse.

“There,” she said with a strange amount of brightness. “I’m going to take a look at those and see if I can figure out how they work later. But for now – they’re safely stored.”

“Even in battle you’re always thinking ahead,” Harry couldn’t help but look at her with pride.

She snorted and eyed the area around them with visible disdain.

“Obviously not enough though, we were still caught off guard,” her voice was low with frustration.

“We’ll fix that Hermione,” her eyes darted to his at the seriousness and determination she heard. “It won’t happen again. We _won’t_ let it happen again.”

She nodded firmly, and gripped Harry’s hand tighter. He had noted how she had never let go of him since they got up from the log, and she was standing impossibly close.

“I know where to take us next,” she spoke determinedly. “It won’t be pleasant – but it will be safe.”

With that Hermione stepped into Harry, gently cradling his injured arm between them, wrapping her hand around his waist and gripping his good hand firmly. Then she apparated them away.

-x-x-

With a crack they landed in what Harry thought must have been the middle of a blizzard. The area was rocky, cold and still dark with the little remaining night. She’d brought them to a small rocky mountain so far North Harry figured they might be in Scotland. Immediately upon landing Hermione cast a _homenum_ _revelio_ before walking them toward a rough slightly covered rocky area where they then set up the tent.

Setting up the tent was difficult, not only because of the wind but also because Hermione did not want to let go of Harry’s hand. It took them twice as long to erect the tent and for her to secure the pegs with sticking charms. Begrudgingly, she finally did release her hold on him after she ushered him inside to rest while she went out to set the alarms and detection spells. She’d fished out a clean and warm pair of his flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt for him before she turned to leave.

She set 4 alarms and detections. One at 50 meters, one at 100 meters, one at 300 meters and one at 500 meters out from the tent. The small cracking sounds of her apparating to each location went unheard along the mountainside, disguised by the raging wind. While she worked her mind was racing, her stomach nervous and her eyes flicked quickly side to side with anxiety – wand clutched tightly in her hand awaiting any attacks. Images of the dead snatchers blue eyes kept popping up in her head, she’d shake it to refocus and then continue to push on.

She would need to deal with what had happened – she knew this – but just not right now. Right now, she needed to ensure that they were safe, that _Harry_ was safe. So, she wandered the dark snow-covered mountain with determination, her hand twitching every few steps, pulse racing as she flinched every so often – afraid that she’d heard something. Her twitching and trembling body was tense, every sense on high alert as she shivered in the frigid cold.

Closing the small distance back to the tent she finally set the wards and enchantments which would conceal their tent and keep them safe. The wind clawed at her face, the sleet and snow stung her eyes and cheeks. At the last ten steps she felt her energy drain from her body, as if someone had just placed the weight of the world on her shoulders. The adrenaline that had been coursing through her body drained away and now she only felt heavy from exhaustion, sore and numb. She found herself thinking that the only thing she wanted to do was just curl up in Harry’s arms.

She knew that they’d talked about what was going on between them and that _she_ had been the one to say that now wasn’t a good time. She knew that _she_ was the one who said the war complicated things and that _she_ said allowing the closeness was irresponsible. _I don’t care though_ , she thought as she pushed the tent open and came inside to remove her jacket and boots. She looked to see Harry seated on his bunk, changed into the pajama bottoms and loose-fitting black t-shirt she’d given him before leaving. He looked up at her and smiled – he looked like shit.

She stripped off her jacket, hat and boots before moving toward Harry. Her body felt like it was a hundred years old and full of lead. She was sure that tomorrow she would wake up to a bunch of fun and interesting bruises from rolling around in the forest and dodging to save her life. But right now, she couldn’t care less. Sluggishly she knelt before Harry to inspect his arm.

“You were lucky,” she said, voice heavy as she ran her fingers over the freshly healed skin.

“Yeah, it really only nicked my arm,” his eyes followed hers as she turned his arm over to inspect the back. “I think most of the damage was the break to be honest. That and the bruising from when it bit my forearm – but at least the shield prevented its teeth from puncturing my arm. Only felt the pressure.”

A thin jagged angry red scar stretched from the tip of his shoulder down to his elbow. The werewolf’s claw had caught his shoulder, breaking the humerus with the downward force of impact and it carved a thin line several inches before Harry had managed to push it back. Harry was right, deep blue bruises were starting to show on his forearm, but there were no punctures. Most of the blood on his clothes had actually been the werewolf’s from several well placed _diffindos_ and Hermione expected that Harry’s recovery would not take nearly as long as her own had. Though, like hers – the scar would remain forever.

Hermione _accioed_ her purse and pulled out a balm she had to help with the bruises and proceeded to gently rub it into his forearm. It smelled minty, and it made some of the tension release from his shoulders. After putting the balm away,s she sat before Harry and realized that she was holding Harry’s hand between her – tracing his fingers and running her hands over his knuckles. She didn’t want to let go, she didn’t want to leave him. Her mind was blank. She felt dead on her knees and she could feel his warmth spreading through her hands, her eyelids started to slouch.

“Hermione,” he said gently as he ran his own fingers over her knuckles. “You should get some rest.”

Hermione nodded slowly, her mind churning like an old slow clock. She raised herself from the floor and squeezed Harry’s hand before walking toward her bunk and pulling out her own red flannel pajama bottoms and a dark grey sweater.

“I set 4 alarms and detections, so we will be able to get some sleep without anything sneaking up on us,” she heard Harry agree and the creak of his bunk as he laid down gently.

Pattering softly to the bathroom she found that she didn’t have it in her to shower, so instead she quickly brushed her teeth, cast a drying charm on her hair, washed her face and cast a cleaning charm on herself after throwing her hair up in a sagging ponytail. The golden locket hung loose around her neck and she was thankful that they didn’t lose it in the battle. She would wear it for the next few days while Harry recovered.

Her movements were languished, her thoughts thick and heavy as emotion weighed heavy on her heart. Twice now, _twice_ they’d come so close to losing each other. She didn’t want to lose him – she couldn’t. When she exited the bathroom the lights in the tent were still lit and she moved quietly back to her bunk, dumping her worn clothes on the ground by her feet. She didn’t even have the energy to laugh at how ridiculous it was for _Hermione Granger_ to drop clothes on the floor. She stood stock still staring at the empty and cold looking bunk before her. The raging winds outside rattled the tent and the fabric pulled viciously with each gust. She wasn’t worried the tent would dislodge – she knew it wouldn’t, she’d been careful with the sticking charms. But the noise and the cold placed an eerie edge to the bizarre calm haze she felt herself in.

She shivered as she continued to stare down at her bed. She didn’t want to crawl in it. She didn’t want to be alone. Slowly, she turned to look at Harry. His eyes were closed, and he was laying on his back. She wasn’t sure if he was sleeping or not yet, he was as exhausted as she was and injured, so he may have fallen asleep quickly while she was brushing her teeth. She shivered again. Her eyes drooped, and her right knee buckled under her weight – but she couldn’t stop looking at him. She couldn’t make herself turn away to face her bunk. She felt like her heart was aching. It had been too much, today was _too much_ – she couldn’t do this… she couldn’t do this _alone_.

Unable to think, to process, to even begin to consider or _care_ about the consequences she took a step toward Harry’s bunk. He was laying closer to the tent wall, his injured left arm almost touching the fabric as it rippled in the wind. Her feet padded softly as she took the ten or so small steps between their bunks and she saw Harry’s eyes crack open sleepily at the sound of her socked feet approaching.

Without saying a word, he reached his right hand out to her, she took the last two steps to his bunk, grabbed his hand and pulled back the blankets before lowering herself onto his bed. He shuffled over another inch as she laid down next to him, head beside his on the pillow, and rolled onto her side to face him. Her hand intertwined with his and he rested it on his chest. She nuzzled in closer until she could feel his side against her chest before covering herself with his blanket.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered, the words barely audible above the storm that raged outside.

Harry’s hand tightened around hers.

“You’re never alone,” he breathed out in a whisper. “I’m always right here.”

She smiled as she gripped his hand tightly in return, flicking a finger to turn off the lights in the tent. Then darkness overtook her and she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

-x-x-

Hermione woke to the sound of the tent moving around them. A dim light cast strange shadows on the tent walls, and she knew it must be the start of the afternoon despite her eyes still being closed. It never got bright anymore now that they were into December and the snow fell heavy. She did a quick mental check of their wards and could feel that they had remained undisturbed. Her body ached, sore from the battle they had faced the night before. She groaned as she made to roll to her back only to realize that her leg was stuck.

Hesitantly, she opened her eyes and saw thick dishevelled black hair. Her mind took a moment to process the image before it linked to the warmth that she felt against her chest and legs – to the sleeping form of Harry that lay next to her.

Her hand was still clutched firmly to Harry's on his chest, her fingers had gone numb, and her right leg was tossed over Harry's right one and weaved underneath his left. She froze for a moment as the cold of the night before, the loneliness, the fear, the exhaustion and the desire to not be alone settled in. She’d wandered back to his bunk after staring at her own for several minutes. She didn’t want to leave him. She had wanted to be near him. She _still_ did.

She raised her head to look at his face. His features were loose and calm, Hermione couldn't remember the last time that she had seen him sleep so peacefully. Usually he slept in a fit and got tangled in his sheets - but he had not moved an inch from where he passed out. _Makes sense_ , her mind supplied _, he's probably dead exhausted from last night_. She stared at him a while longer before noting, _Harry is incredibly handsome,_ as a blush crept over her cheeks. In the last two years he'd really filled out. Broad shoulders, strong arms and legs, his jaw had become more defined and it gave him the image of a strong and capable man. _No wonder the girls at school had always fawned over him,_ she thought. She’d never really given it much thought or allowed herself to look at him, _really_ look at him. He was – rather dashing.

Hesitantly she craned her neck a bit further to peer at his left arm. It looked okay, still sporting a red and angry scar that peeked out from his shirt sleeve but otherwise it remained fully sealed and did not pose any immediate problems.

Dropping her head softly back to the pillow she contemplated her escape. Though tired, she did not want to sleep anymore and frankly she was positively ravenous. Soon her stomach would be growling, and she didn’t want to wake Harry up. She also wasn't sure what he would say when he realized that she was in his bed... though the image of him out stretching his hand to her circled around in her head and made her blush further. She decided that he probably wouldn't mind her being there... but still. This had definitely pushed past the agreed distance she had all but requested they make. And _she’d_ been the one to breach it.

She rolled this thought over as the tent rippled again from a strong gust. She felt warm here next to Harry. Safe. She didn’t want to leave, she didn’t like the distance that had been made between them. She didn’t like forcing space and she didn’t ever want to let him go. They’d been attacked last night – unlucky as she unknowingly apparated them into a disaster zone. She’d made a mental note that she would need to look at a map and see if she could figure out what the fuck had happened and if there might be a pattern between where the first werewolf was and this one. A note she planned to follow-up on today. Right now though, her brain couldn't stop thinking about how for a second time in just four months they’d come so close to dying.

She didn’t like it. She hated their situation, and it made her think more about Harry's words. How he had said that this was what they were fighting for. She pondered a while longer before she felt her stomach rumble. Deciding to think more on it later but making a mental commitment to _stop_ behaving how she _should_ around Harry and instead go back to how she _wanted_ to – she started to gently pull herself out from his grasp. First detangling their hands and then slipping her leg out. She’d just gotten her calf out from under his leg and was gently pulling it across his right thigh, half sat up and resting on her elbow when Harry moved, and she froze.

His eyes fluttered open, dazed only for a second before they circled and landed on her. She felt her cheeks flush and her brain faltered, her face must have looked like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar because he smiled and let out a low gravelly laugh that made her chest tighten.

"Hey," he looked up at her with bright eyes. Not moving and not mentioning anything about her trying to sneak from bed. Or the fact that she _was_ in his bed, or that her thigh was still resting on his.

"Hey," she spoke in a low whisper as if nervous someone might hear her.

"Is this how you feel all the time, having to look up at people?" his eyes danced as he spoke.

She opened her mouth, closed it and furrowed her eyebrows. At first confused by his statement as he laughed again, then realizing that he was making a joke and probably trying to lighten the mood. Clearly sensing her tension.

"Are you making fun of me for being short!?" she sputtered as she thumped his chest with her free hand, the other still holding her halfway up.

"Ow - hey! Stop!" he caught her wrist gently. "I’m injured."

She narrowed her eyes at him but could not stop the small smile that formed on her lips as she looked down at him. His head was relaxed on the pillow and his grin made it look like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

"I'm glad you're okay," she said, the words fell from her mouth before she had the chance to gain control of her voice.

It came out soft with worry and she blushed as she started to _feel_ just how close she was to him. Leg still lain over his, the entirety of her front was pressed against his side and her hand was now once again held tightly in his on his chest. She lowered her eyes to their now laced fingers.

"I'm glad you're okay too," his voice was soft and her eyes darted back to meet his. It was impossible not to see the emotion that shone in them.

“I’m sorry about your arm Harry,” she spoke quietly and her eyes held sadness.

“It’s okay,” he said slowly as the grin faded slightly from his lips. It was replaced with a softer much more intimate smile. “Now we match.”

She felt her chest constrict and her heart beat hard against her rib cage. She couldn’t look away from his eyes, she couldn’t stop her pulse from quickening. She untangled her hand from Harry’s and slowly brought it up to his face, resting it on his cheek and stroked her thumb over his cheekbone. His leaned his face into it ever so slightly as he blinked slowly.

Hermione could feel her mind shut off, as if she was physically in there herself and simply closed the door on her thoughts. Then slowly, oh so slowly, she lowered her head to his. 

Hermione kissed him, her lips grazing his gently. She heard him breathe in at the contact and he responded to her with equal care. It was slow, deep and warm. Despite her racing heart she didn’t feel nervous – this wasn’t desperate and heated like the last time. _This_ – was different.

It was unhurried, heartfelt, and deep. Her lips moved against his gentle but firm as she tried to convey every ounce of her being to him, every string of emotion she held for him – what she knew but couldn’t say. That she _needed_ him, _cared_ for him, _respected_ him, _wanted_ him – that she _loved_ him. The kiss made her core burn and her heart thrum, but she kept the pace steady and sure, enjoying the feel of his lips moving against hers in such a slow and agonizingly intimate way.

Slowly, she pulled away from him, leaving her lips feeling cold and alone. She leaned back on her elbow and looked into his eyes. Harry stared up at her, his eyes a mirror reflection of her own – conveying unspoken intense emotion. She felt a blush creep onto her cheeks, and she lowered her eyes somewhat bashfully to his chest before pushing herself up to sit on the edge of the bed as her hand dragged slowly away from his face. 

Harry didn’t stop her as she moved to get up and walk toward the kitchen. He didn’t try to turn the moment into anything more than it was. He didn’t speak, but his eyes watched her move and he smiled quietly to himself. He would never question Hermione about the kiss. She would never have to explain what it meant, he would never worry about what it _might_ mean, he would never wonder what was going on between them and he would never feel unsure of what it was. Hermione didn’t have to tell him anything – he already knew. 

(SIDE NOTE: I have some stuff that needs attention this weekend so I may not be able to post Sunday. But I’ll do my very best. As per Mr. Dursley - there's no post on Sundays)


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training, planning, the usual - and Hermione and Harry's relationship becomes physical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Happy Wednesday Everyone! Again… apologies for missing last Sunday’s chapter due to an overly hectic schedule. So I made this one a little longer… and added some….stuff to make up for it. I hope that each of you are having an amazing day and I hope that you enjoy Chapter 11!  
> 2\. Please let me know what you think, I always read the comments and feedback.  
> 3\. POV switches back and forth a bit in this chapter, so I hope you don't mind.  
> 4\. I love all your faces <3 so much!
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe. 
> 
> Updates on Sunday +/- a few days.

You should all know the general fic warnings by now so I will no longer be including them at the start of every chapter. I will only be including chapter-specific warnings from now on.

**Warnings:**

This chapter contains: explicit smut (which can be skipped without missing out on main plot)

*******************************************

The next week that passed was rough and each day moved slowly. On the first day, as per her plan, Hermione examined the map and noticed that the werewolf encounters seemed to be circled around Birmingham. One had occurred to the North of the city and the other to the South. Using Birmingham as the center Hermione made a circle on her map with a radius equal to the distance that the two encounters had occurred. She marked the area as a ‘no apparate zone’ and they both agreed not to go anywhere near it for the rest of their Horcrux hunting.

The remainder of the first day was spent mostly lounging around the tent, both Harry and Hermione were simply too exhausted from the _Battle on the Hillside –_ as they agreed to call it – to accomplish much else. They had eaten a quick breakfast and each showered to remove the remaining grime from the night before – Hermione cleaned Harry’s bunk thoroughly while he showered given that they had both slept in it without washing the night before. In the afternoon Harry laid on his bunk and read the books that Hermione brought to him while she curled up by his knees, leaning on the tent post similar to how Harry had stayed with her while she was sick – only this time she held his hand as they each read quietly.

Their workouts and training were difficult to complete due to the weather. The snow and sleet were relentless and slammed the tent viciously and allowed for very little visibility outside. With being on the side of a mountain it was too dangerous to practice outside, so they did what they could inside the tent while ensuring not to damage anything or accidentally explode the tent furniture. Harry completed their fitness routine too, albeit a bit more slowly, in order to ensure that his newly healed muscles adjusted to his body. Hermione teased him any time she was able to complete more reps than him and pinched his sides when she completed more pushups than him on the third day before Harry quickly swatted her hands away and made a promise to _get_ her back once he was at full strength. 

The tent was frigid and despite the warming charms and multiple fires that they had set in jars around the tent they couldn't quite take the cold bite out of the air – regardless, they both agreed to not apparate anywhere else for the week or until Harry was closer to being 100%. The unwelcoming nature of the mountain and its remote location made it the safest place that they could possibly stay while Harry healed. Both as a result of the freezing cold tent and the commitment Hermione had made to herself to stop trying to act a particular way around Harry, she allowed the closeness to reform between them. They sat exactly beside each other every night for tea, intertwined their legs on the footstool, touched hands while talking and often found themselves curling up on a bunk together to read with a throw blanket draped across them as they huddled for warmth. Hermione noticed that Harry never pushed – he simply accepted any closeness and physical contact she instigated, mirrored it, and allowed her to set the pace and the boundaries of their interactions.

She smiled inwardly at that – thanking Harry internally for not over-complicating things, or asking her for explanations – and instead just understanding her intent and respecting her internal struggle. She wanted to be close to Harry, she wanted to see where things went and she already knew Harry’s position on the matter as he had blatantly stated it. Her kiss with Harry when they both woke in his bunk after the attack was meant to show him that she cared and that she was open to allowing the closeness between them and to let it grow – that she cared for him more than she could even wrap her head around it. But she still couldn’t always shake the nervousness that she felt about acting on her feelings and allowing their relationship to develop into something else. She still caught herself second-guessing it until she forced her mind to calm down and just let things _be –_ so she appreciated that Harry seemed to intuitively understand both her want and her hesitation, and he allowed her to just be herself and take things slowly. Instead of worrying what she should do, she resolved to just do what felt right.

Hermione refused to allow Harry to take any night watches and insisted that he get a good night’s sleep to ensure that his healing process progressed as quickly as possible. With the additional wards and alarms that Hermione had set, and the terrible weather, night watch was not truly required – though, Hermione still insisted upon taking a 4 hour shift each night, where she sat alone at the entrance of the tent until the wee hours of the morning. It remained unspoken between them, but they both knew she was having trouble sleeping after killing the snatcher on the hillside.

She hadn't broken down, cried, or developed any major PTSD symptoms after the battle – but she did often see the snatcher’s vacant blue eyes when she lay in bed and closed her own. She found that sitting in the cold and staring into the endless snowstorm helped calm her nerves and gave her ample time to meditate and work through her breathing techniques to help process what she had done. She did not mourn the death of whoever the man was, she didn’t regret what happened and she didn’t linger on the fact that she had ended a life – what hit her hardest was her own shattered naivety and the realization of how brutal and how ruthless war was, and how quickly she was forced to lose the last remains of innocence she had left in order to survive.

Up until the _Battle on the Hillside_ , she had managed to get by with making small sacrifices and losing only parts of her naivety. She always understood that war was difficult, that the things that happened during it would have long term effects and leave lasting scars – she’d just never fully appreciated it. She hadn’t understood… but she did now.

She had jinxed the DA contract and hurt Marietta Edgecombe, she’d broken school rules, snuck out after curfew, played with time, put herself and others in danger, broken laws, battled Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries and even severely injured others while in the fight – but despite that she had always clung to a rather naïve and somewhat childish view of the war, where she thought that good would win. That somehow everything would end up okay because it had to. But not anymore… Hermione felt a strange feeling settle over her as she stared out into the blizzard before her, as she thought about what she had done, what she would do, what she had to do to get through this. She wasn't a kid anymore. That ship had sailed. This war had changed her. She had always been serious, responsible and studious – but this was different. This was the cold unemotional acceptance for what the situation really was. This was the solemn recognition that even if they won, things would not go back to how they were – that _she_ would not go back to who she was. This war was a part of her now, it had stolen time from her, hardened her, it had taken from her and would continue to take until one side fell – and she would take all of it, every step, every action and every struggle forward with her for the rest of her life.

She spent many of her night watches thinking about Ginny and the other DA members still at Hogwarts and wondered if they knew what was coming – what might be asked of them. If they were prepared for battle, for sacrificing pieces of themselves or taking the lives of others. She thought of Ron and wondered how he would have handled the battle, and if she ever saw him again if he would be mature enough to _actually_ participate in the war the way they needed to. She could sense the shift in her maturity, she hadn’t appreciated what was coming up until now. Harry had... he had lived it already. He watched Cedric die, he saw Sirius disappear behind the veil, he’d been tortured with the _cruciatus_ and he had continuously lost _so_ much. She wasn’t sure if everyone would be ready – but she resolved herself to be, and she took some solace in knowing that Harry understood how she felt and that they would work through whatever happened next together.

On three of the nights during their week on the mountainside she’d crawled into Harry’s bed after the night watch. The first time that it happened she had laid in her bunk for an hour, unable to sleep and unable to shake the unease that filled her mind as she closed her eyes and saw only the blood-spattered snow. The second night she knew as she retired into the tent that she would not be able to sleep and had lingered next to Harry’s bunk briefly before giving in and crawling under his blankets. The third time it happened she didn’t even try to fight it and immediately crawled into his bunk and rolled into his side for warmth. His even breathing and presence calmed her racing thoughts and allowed her to sleep.

The first time it had happened she snuck out of bed before Harry woke – or at least while he pretended to be sleeping so she could maintain her composure about leaving his bed uninvited. The second time it happened she woke to Harry making breakfast in the kitchen for her. She wasn’t sure how he slipped out without her noticing, but he never mentioned anything about her crawling into his bunk uninvited and they ate breakfast rather comfortably around a large blue flame before beginning their exercise routine.

The third time it happened she awoke in Harry’s arms, he was awake and reading next to her – one arm draped lazily around her, her head tucked into his shoulder, leg thrown over his and snuggled deeply into his side. He had given her a gentle squeeze when he saw a light blush creep over her face and what he figured might be a small amount of mortification based on her wide and avoiding eyes. He kissed her gently on the top of her head before murmuring “Any time you need to Hermione” softly against her hair. She had stayed next to him for several long minutes, enjoying his warmth and letting her mind wander before finally detangling herself from him to climb from bed and start making breakfast.

As she cooked breakfast her heart raced from the previous closeness and she felt her eyes prickle as a wave of emotion washed over her. Her relationship with Harry was both the most complex and confusing thing while also being the most simple and comforting thing she had ever been a part of. She would never be able to express to him in words how much it meant to her that she could just be herself around him – and not worry about defining anything or deciding anything. Things were a mess – they were a mess, and yet Harry was her constant and being able to be with him in whatever way felt right when they needed it kept her sane and gave her hope.

As December 14th rolled around Harry was almost to his usual stamina, their shield charm ability remained strong, Hermione had taught Harry how to cast a disillusionment charm, Hermione’s many interestingly shaped bruises had healed and she figured it was about time to move on. She awoke that morning from her own bunk, the cold from the tent nipping at her nose as she groaned internally wishing for warmer weather. So far into December she knew it would be cold no matter where they apparated, so she decided to bring them to a Northerly cliff on the East side of Scotland next – knowing that the weather would be disastrous and provide ample cover like their current location.

Forcing herself from bed she cast a quick warming charm on herself, praised her ridiculously thick knitted socks for being so effective and started on breakfast. After Harry woke, they ate, agreed apparating to a new location would be a good plan for the morning and quickly packed up the tent. As they stood on the freezing mountainside Hermione moved close to Harry, he wrapped his arm around her waist tightly and she placed her ungloved hand gently on the back on his neck. She swept her eyes over the mountainside briefly before closing them to apparate them away. Leaving the mountain felt like she was leaving her old self behind and moving forward as an older, more worn, harder and hopefully wiser person.

-x-x-

A loud crack split the air as they landed next to a steep cliff that dropped down to the North Sea. Hermione remained close to Harry, hand on the back of his neck as they both crouched down quickly and cast _homenum_ _revelio_ and a quick detection charm with a 100 foot radius before they stood slowly and began to set up the tent. Harry and Hermione went together to set the wards, alarms, detection spells and enchantments. It took a bit longer this way – but it was _safer,_ and they had agreed to take no more chances before they left, becoming much more militant in their approach.

By the time they both ducked inside the tent they were shivering, despite the multiple warming charms, and Hermione’s hair was coated in snow. They both had tea to warm up, then completed a quick exercise routine before they took turns in the shower, ate lunch and settled in their respective armchairs around a particularly large blue flame to read. Despite the fact that they were now more South than before it felt colder. _Probably because of the humidity,_ her brain supplied. Being so close to the water the wind chill was cutting and the air was damp with a deep cold that they could not seem to shake.

After an hour of reading she found herself stealing glances at Harry over her book as her mind wandered back to their intimate kiss in the kitchen. She had intertwined her legs with Harry’s when they first sat down and in the last several minutes she had started fidgeting them to keep warm. Harry had obviously noticed and had started to gently rub his thick sock-covered foot over hers to warm her feet. At first the movement had only felt kind, welcoming and warm to Hermione – but the longer he did it the more distracting it had become and now she found her mind wandering to places that still made her nervous, and thinking about the pent up frustrations she had been feeling all week.

Biting her thumb as a distraction, she looked back down at her book and turned the page to look at a very interesting – except not really interesting right now – instruction diagram for how to assemble a charmed multi-potion brewing station. She thought about the warmth of Harry’s legs, how close he had been when they kissed and how the heat had radiated off of him. She shivered in her chair. _Fuck this cold is going to my head_ , she thought as she bit her thumb harder to try and distract herself. _It’s so fucking cold… and Harry is so warm_. She hadn’t noticed that she had started to gently rub her legs over his in response to his warming motions and instead was now recalling the feel of his lips against hers.

 _I wonder if that will ever happen again… I mean we’ve kissed again since – but not like that. That was… well, that was something else entirely._ A small blush crept over her cheeks as she thought about it, the heated urgency between them as he had pressed his body into hers. She would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about that kiss a fair amount, it crept into her mind often. She would also be lying if she said she didn’t want it to happen again. Though, she wondered how something like that would come up again. Last time it was initiated by their closeness, their excitement over the successful implementation of the shield spell, and the built-up sexual tension – _let’s be real though, the sexual tension is still there_ , she thought. Despite the acknowledged but ignored continued sexual tension, sitting in a freezing tent wasn’t exactly the most _enticing_ atmosphere. She shivered again. _Fucking cold._

After several minutes her wandering mind slowed as she felt the familiar prickle of being watched and her eyes darted up and over to Harry’s chair. His book was still open in front of him on his lap, but it was held in laxed hands and he was fully staring at her. Rather intensely. The light blush on her face darkened and her eyes darted away from him down to her book before she realized that her thumb had still been lightly resting between her teeth. Pulling it away she shivered once more before glancing nervously up at him.

“What?” she asked, not able to hold his gaze and instead letting her eyes dance around his face, hands and book.

“Nothing,” Harry said slowly, his voice a little deeper than usual. “I was thinking of making some hot chocolate – you look cold, do you want some?”

“Yeah, that’d be lovely,” she smiled over at him.

Slowly Harry detangled his legs from hers and stood up from his seat. She shivered at the loss of his warm legs and pulled her own close to her chest as she watched him walk to the kitchen.

“So,” he said as he pulled down two old mugs and looked over his shoulder at her. “Reading anything interesting?”

Hermione’s blush deepened. She knew Harry _was not_ a skilled legilimens, but the sound of his voice made her think that he might somehow know what she was thinking about.

“Sort of,” she said as she turned more in her chair to face him. “Just a neat detail on how to assemble a charmed multi-potion brewing station. Thought it might be useful to brew up some replacement potions.”

Harry poured the freshly boiled water into the muggle hot chocolate mix that Hermione had grabbed from their last supplies mission. She was glad that Harry didn’t mind drinking it – it was much more convenient to make than homemade or even wizards hot chocolate – and she had been annoyed when Ron complained about the dry powder mix being used to make steamy hot chocolate when they had some in early September.

Harry nodded as he approached her with the steaming mug and spoke as he handed it to her and sat down on the footstool in front of her.

“Must have been a difficult charm, since you were staring at the page for over 20 minutes.”

“I –“ Hermione’s voice caught as she looked down at her mug and then back to Harry as a deep blush grazed her face. “I was not – I was just thinking – what, were you watching me read?”

Harry laughed as he took a tentative sip of his hot beverage and then grinned at her.

“It was a bit hard not to what with your constant fidgeting and small sighs.”

“I was not sighing,” a look of flustered indignation crossed her face.

“Mhmm,” he raised an amused eyebrow at her. “I must have imagined it along with the dazed yet slightly frustrated expression you had.”

Hermione swatted at him before turning her face away and took a sip of the deliciously hot beverage.

“I was just distracted,” she said quietly into the mug.

“Mhmm,” Harry grinned again as he stood up and wandered back to his chair.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him but continued to hide her small blush as she ducked her head over the mug she held. _Is Harry teasing me?_ she thought as she blew on the drink to cool it down. _Or… flirting? Was that flirting? Or is he hinting that he knows what’s on my mind?_

She pondered it as she flipped her book back open to look at the potion charm diagram. Maybe being stuck in the tent for the last week was getting to her more than she thought, they both needed some air and a chance to burn off some energy. Or maybe she had just been incredibly obvious in her musings and Harry had noticed. _Which is embarrassing_ , she thought. Or, maybe it was her rubbing her legs over his – she wasn’t sure. Either way, the familiar heat in her core seemed to have reignited and she felt a small churn in her stomach as she stole a glance at him and smiled over her mug. Then she tried to force herself to concentrate.

Though it seemed like Hermione’s mind had other ideas. Despite her best efforts and resolve, she found herself still distracted an hour later. Except now – she felt pent up, confused and frustrated. Annoyed with her lack of discipline and unsure why she felt so on edge she groaned outwardly and slammed the book closed before getting up from her chair. _Come on Hermione get it together, what the fuck has gotten you so riled up_!

Harry jerked at the noise and looked up to see Hermione stretch in frustration in front on him. Noticing how her sweater lifted to show an inch of skin at her waist. Hermione looked down at him.

“I’m not sure hot chocolate was a good idea, I can’t concentrate – I’m so pent up from being in this tent all week from the weather and now I have all this energy from the sugar – and I just –“ Hermione groaned outwardly as she shook her head. “I love reading, I love researching – but this is ridiculous, I need to _do_ something.”

Hermione was looking at him with no small amount of desperation and he could not help himself but laugh.

“What?” she asked, with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“Sorry,” Harry said as he covered his mouth with his hand to hide his second chuckle. “I just never thought that I would outlast you with reading – I thought that I would crack first.”

Hermione scowled at first but then found the corner of her lips tugging upwards at the amused look on Harry's face.

“I just feel so constricted without being able to practice,” she smoothed her hands over her hair and turned to face him fully. “I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed practicing duelling or being active until I was, now I just feel so pent up. How are _you_ dealing with this?”

“I’m not,” Harry replied honestly with a smile and he also stood from his chair. “I’m just as frustrated, I just thought if I complained you would tell me to be more studious and patient. So, I’ve sort of been pushing it down and just gritting through it.”

Hermione found she couldn’t even roll her eyes at that one. It was a fair assumption so instead she shrugged a little sheepishly.

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “That sounds like me. Look what you’ve done to me… made me _active_.”

Harry laughed outright at her use of the word _active_ , having made it sound like the worst possible trait, or like she had caught an infection.

“Alright,” he said grabbing his arm chair and moving it to the side. “How about we cast some shield charms around the tent and have a small duel with only leg lockers and disarming. We can draw two small circles across from one another – we each have to stay inside them – and then we can practice our close combat dodging. How’s that sound?”

“Fantastic,” a huge grin spit on her face as she quickly grabbed her chair and moved it next to Harry’s.

They cast several general shield charms around the tent to create something similar to a small boxed in arena and then drew two 4 foot diameter circles on the floor of the tent just over 10 feet away from each other. Then each standing in a circle, they proceeded to duel.

It was immensely difficult. Trying to dodge while not stepping outside of the circle was awful. Hermione overstepped her circle 4 times before she started to get used to it. Despite the small quarters and lack of running around the exercise proved to be challenging, engaging, and a physical work out. Hermione ducked, jumped, leaned and found herself utilizing poses she didn’t know she was even capable of making. She made a mental note to add stretching to their exercise routine as it would definitely prove useful in close quarters. They went at it for over an hour before Hermione hit Harry with a leg locker and he tumbled backward to the ground with a heavy thump.

“Sorry Harry,” she called as she left her circle and crossed the small distance between them to cast the counter-spell on his stiff legs. “You okay?”

Harry accepted the hand she reached out to him and pulled himself from the ground.

“Absolutely,” he was grinning from ear to ear. “This was a good plan, I think it will be really helpful! We should just leave the circles on the ground what do you think?”

Hermione nodded her agreement as she started to take down the protective shields that they had placed around the tent. Nothing was broken, the drill had been successful and now they had a new training routine to use in terrible weather. She could not wipe the smile from her face as they both talked strategy for how best to dodge in a small circle while they began to prepare dinner. Hermione noticed the way Harry lingered at her side, she couldn’t help but bump his elbow playfully and then swat him when he mimicked one of her more ridiculous dodge poses. Their jovial conversation continued non-stop while they ate, their laughter ringing out in the tent more than it ever had in the past as their joking turned to funny stories from their past. Harry told her about the time at the zoo with the python, Hermione told Harry about how she had accidentally turned her mother’s hair green as a small kid, and Harry told Hermione about how Mr. Dursley had gone insane when the Hogwarts letters started arriving – although it had upset him at the time, the image of his uncle muttering and behaving erratically now made him laugh with amusement.

At some point during their conversation they agreed that two separate armchairs were simply _impractical_ and _ridiculous_ with the cold weather – so Hermione transfigured one of the chairs into a large love seat. The second chair sat next to it and held a large jar of blue flame. They were both now sitting on the love seat, close together, a throw draped over their legs, holding tea mugs while they spoke animatedly to each other. Hermione had turned on the love seat to face Harry, her leg folder underneath her and he was angled toward her, his back resting on the armrest of the couch.

“So what did you want to be when you grew up, before you knew you were a wizard?” Hermione asked as she sipped her tea. Not noticing how she leaned toward him as they spoke.

“Oh hell,” Harry said with a laugh. “I have no idea! I never knew. I mostly just wanted to get out – but I guess I always wanted to do something good. I didn’t want to be a cop necessarily, but I wanted to work toward making the world a better place and stopping bad people. I know that sounds sort of pathetic.”

“No that’s not pathetic at all!” Hermione replied as she placed her tea mug on the footstool. “When I was a kid, I sort of always thought I might become a dentist – because both my parents were – they never pushed me toward anything, but I just always had this feeling that’s where I would end up. But it wasn’t what I wanted. I – I wanted to make a difference. I never knew how, I just knew I wanted to stand up for injustice – and fight for things that mattered, for things no one else would fight for. So maybe a lawyer or something. I never put any more thought into it after I got my Hogwarts letter.”

“That makes sense, you _definitely_ always stood up for those who couldn’t do it themselves. I still have my S.P.E.W. badge,” Harry grinned at her as he also placed his now empty mug on the footstool. Catching the way Hermione’s eyes narrowed at him he quickly continued. “No – no, it’s a good thing! S.P.E.W. was great Hermione, and I mean that – really, you would have been an amazing lawyer fighting for people’s rights.”

Hermione grinned at him as a small blush flushed her cheeks and she looked down at her hands that were clasped in her lap.

“Thanks Harry,” her voice was soft as she spoke.

Harry grabbed her hand and clutched it in his own before bringing it up to his mouth to place a small kiss on her knuckles.

“You _will_ be great at whatever you decide to do after this,” he spoke gently, but his words were firm as he looked at her and held her hand in his lap.

“That’s a strange thought isn’t it?” she said as her eyes drifted back up to his. “The war being over? Being able to actually just _be_ ourselves and have _normal_ lives.”

They both laughed at this, and Hermione shuddered slightly from the cold draft in the tent.

“I’m not sure our lives will ever be _normal_ ,” Harry said as he reached forward and ran his hand up and down her upper arm to warm her. “But – I am excited for this to be over – for whatever comes next.”

They both smiled at each other and Hermione felt the small coil in her stomach tighten. Harry was always so optimistic, always so sure that things would resolve themselves and that they would win. Tonight was one of the few nights where she wholeheartedly believed it and dared to allow herself to hope for a future that didn’t include being on the run or constantly running into people who wanted them dead. His bright greens eyes poured out nothing but hope, and it was – _beautiful,_ her mind offered up.

A small blush crept over her as she continued to look at Harry, and she dropped her eyes to his chin when the coil in her stomach twisted again. The heat from his hand on her arms and his leg against hers was so welcoming. The dark that had consumed the tent was now only battled by the flicker of the blue flame behind her and their position now started to feel rather _intimate_. Harry’s hand rubbing her arm slowed and he squeezed her once before dropping his arm. She caught it though, lacing her fingers through his and pulling it to her chest as her eyes moved up to his. He was looking at her the same way he had before he kissed her, the same way he had when she woke up next to him – the same way that made her breath hitch in her chest.

The brutal wind howled outside the tent, but the air between them was still. Hermione stared into his eyes, she knew her cheeks were flushed, she knew her eyes showed the desire she constantly tried to keep in check – but tonight, she wanted him to see it. She shivered as Harry’s grip on her hand tightened, but she didn’t look away from his eyes. She wanted him, she wanted to be closer to him, she wanted to feel the heat that poured from his body. As the thoughts of having him closer passed through her mind her nerves started to wake up. She didn’t know how to be close to someone in that way. Hermione was a bookworm for Merlin’s sake not some popular girl who had been surrounded by schoolboys and learned the subtle art of relationships or seduction. Which was ironic, considering that she had spent her entire time at Hogwarts surround by two schoolboys – _constantly_. But it had never been in _that_ way and as a result she had no idea what she was doing, she felt unprepared to deal with her wants and she silently berated herself for not reading up on it beforehand. She had had _ample_ time to do so while stuck in a fucking tent for the last few months.

Her eyes drifted to Harry’s lips, they were ever so slightly parted, and she wet her own unknowingly before her eyes drifted briefly over his chest and shoulders – they were lean and strong – before they circled back up to his face. His eyes had darkened while she had been studying him and she felt her pulse quicken at the sight. She was terrified to make the first move, but felt her body lean intuitively toward him another inch.

As if on cue, sensing her desire and knowing she was nervous, Harry leaned toward her slowly and let go of her hand that he still held in his lap to bring his hand toward her face, brushing his thumb over her cheek as he leaned in. Hermione’s breath caught, but she didn’t panic, and she didn’t pull away. He was only just inches away from her now, eyes still locked as he stroked her cheek with the soft pad of his thumb. Hermione felt herself inhale as she realized that he’d paused, and the small inches between them remained. Understanding dawning on her that he would not make a move unless she requested it or instigated it – as he had said he wouldn’t.

“Harry,” the words were a whisper almost lost between them.

“Yes, Hermione,” his voice was that familiar deep baritone that made her core wind tighter and the heat between her legs warm.

“Kiss me.”

The words had only barely left her lips before his were on hers. Her eyes closed shut at the contact and she breathed out sharply as his warmth flooded through her. She tilted her head to the right as her free hand clutched on to Harry’s thigh, the other hand still held tightly between them at her chest. It was a deep, wanting kiss and it made her insides roll over in anticipation. The hands between them split and then his came to rest firmly on her side and she clutched at the front of his sweater.

She moaned when his tongue entered her mouth, brushing over hers and exploring each nook and cranny as she ran her own tongue over his. He tasted sweet like the tea that they had just been drinking and she leaned into their kiss further as she felt his fingers tighten on her side. Their breathing became quicker as she pulled him toward her by his sweater and his hand slipped behind her head and tangled into her hair. Harry’s other hand slipped around her back and pulled her to his chest as he deepened their kiss further and the urgency increased. Her hands switched between clutching the fabric of the back of his sweater and running her hands along his broad shoulders, memorizing their shape as her chest was pressed tightly against his.

Her heart skipped when she felt herself leaning backwards on the couch under Harry’s weight. Her head came to rest on the armrest of the couch with Harry’s hand bracing her neck as his other hand slid back to her side. He was tangled between her legs and she groaned at the warmth of his body pressed heavily against her, pinning her to the couch as their lips moved desperately against each other. _This,_ she thought as she nibbled on Harry’s lower lip, _was what I needed._ As much as she hated to admit it, because it made her feel a bit ashamed to be so affected by such baser instincts – this was what had been causing her so much tension throughout the week.

Harry pressed into her gently, running his hand up her side and being careful to stay above her sweater, and Hermione groaned out against him as his lips moved to her jaw, then her neck. It was hot, Hermione felt hot for the first time in what felt like weeks as warmth spread over her body. The heat between her legs doubled as she felt Harry’s stiff length between them, pressing into her thigh. Her heart raced and her stomach fluttered, it was a new feeling that made her both terrified and excited. She obviously knew all about erections, her two best friends were boys for Merlin’s sake – but she had never felt one pressed up against her, never felt a heat and excitement burn at her core at the thought of what it could mean.

Harry groaned against her neck as she tentatively pushed her hips against him and weaved her fingers through his hair. Not letting herself overthink, emptying her mind and just allowing herself to feel and her body to act on instinct. His lips crashed back against hers and she felt a new urgency to them, a deeply rooted want that he had been keeping at bay. Their intensity was fierce, and Hermione didn’t even realize that she had spread her legs wider and that she matched the small grinding motions that Harry was making into her hips. She felt something building, a pressure at her core that had long since been forgotten.

Sure, she had masturbated previously, but it was never often, and she usually had trouble reaching climax as her mind would get in the way. Always thinking about homework, the boys and her friends, or some other task that needed to be done – she had always found it difficult to concentrate and get anywhere with it. With Umbridge in 5th year, the disaster that was 6th year, and now the war where she spent every hour with boys in a tent… it hardly seemed appropriate and there hardly seemed to be a good time to try it. But now, with the heat, the want, the intense atmosphere that circled around them – the tight coil and the building sensation felt surreal and filled her with a wonderful sort of anticipation.

Hermione moaned loudly when Harry ground into her, his stiff length pressing right between her legs directly against her core as their lips fell apart. Her hand clenched his hair tightly between her fingers as her head fell back against the armrest. She’d sounded animalistic.

A wave of embarrassment fell over her, _Shit!_ She knew that she was wet, her knickers would be too and if not for the thick jeans she was wearing it would be painfully obvious. Her eyes fluttered open, catching Harry’s and then she dropped her own down to his chest breathing heavily. She could feel her face aflame. They’d stopped their grinding motions, and Harry now lay precariously between her legs – still hard, still pressing into her thigh. _Fuck_ , she thought as she closed her eyes tightly and then forced them back open. She had never done this before, never made a noise like that in front of anyone before and she felt almost mortified. It was the most intimate noise she’d ever made in her life, and it had fallen so easily from her lips. The noise had stirred her thoughts and brought her mind back into the equation as she realized the position they were in.

She forced herself to glance up toward Harry, he was looking at her almost curiously, eyes lust-filled and hazy as his breaths came in quick shallow reps. His hand was still tangled in her hair at the base of her neck and his other hand was still clutching her side as he rested on his elbow. It was as if her sound had also brought his mind back into the conversation as he realized what was happening and calculated what to do next. She felt mortified, she knew that was a bit ridiculous – what they were doing was perfectly human and natural after all – but she couldn’t help her embarrassment.

“Hermione,” he breathed out slowly as he lowered his head to rest his forehead against hers.

“I’m sorry,” the words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Harry’s body froze as he drew his head back a fraction of an inch to look in her eyes.

“What? Why are you sorry?” his eyes searched hers quickly, but the remainder of him was still.

“I-“ she looked away, then back to him. Her eyes flicked around his face and she wanted to curl into herself and disappear. “I- sorry, I just, I’ve never – I didn’t mean to make that noise, I just-“

Her voice stopped as Harry pressed a soft and gentle kiss to her lips.

“Hermione,” he said quietly as he pulled back to look at her again. “Do _not_ apologize for _that_. You, are incredible, and the sounds that you’re making – they – they make me worry I’m going to lose my self-control.”

The coil in Hermione’s core wound impossibly tighter at his words and the raw lust that shone from his eyes. She connected their lips again and reignited their passionate kiss, Harry’s hand moving above her sweater to gently cup her breast. She groaned softly at his touch as she explored her front over her clothes and moved to kiss her neck again.

“Harry, will – will you touch me?”

The words were almost a whisper and Harry stilled against her, raising his head from her neck to look into her eyes. He pressed a gently kiss to her lips before speaking.

“Tell me when to stop, Hermione, okay?”

She locked her eyes to his and nodded nervously. She was nervous, that was a fact – but she was also excited, pent up, turned on, and she wanted him to touch her. She wanted Harry to be able to touch her body without her freaking out. She wanted to fully move on and know that she was in control of her body.

Slowly, his eyes still on hers, he slid his hand down her front to the hem of her sweater and hesitated before she nodded to him again more confidently. Leaning down to kiss her with an agonizingly sweet and tender kiss he slipped his right hand under her sweater. He moved slow, his thumb pressing gentle circles into her skin as his hand crept up her left side. She flinched slightly when his thumb brushed over the marred skin of her lowest scar just at the top of her stomach below her breast. He stopped, kissing her more reassuringly until she relaxed, and then he continued to move his hand.

It was slow, and Hermione’s body convulsed involuntarily each time Harry’s thumb and fingers brushed over her damaged skin. Each time the panic shot up in her mind she forced it down and leaned into the steady and reassuring lips that moved against hers – drawing strength from the fact that Harry never faltered, he never flinched and he did not pull away in disgust. Instead if anything, he kissed her more deeply and with more passion when his hand caressed her chest, over her breasts and up to the collar bone. Touching each and every one of her scars gently and without judgement.

When Hermione finally seemed to become fully relaxed under his hands and confidently kissing him in return he slowly pressed his hips into hers and she let out a low moan. Harry smiled against her neck as he dropped his hand beneath her bra and ran a thumb over her taut nipple. Her breath hitched at the contact and he sucked gently on her neck as he rolled her nipple over between his thumb and finger before gently massaging her breast. He could feel the heat between them intensify again as she pushed up into his hips and nipped at his ear.

He responded by lowering his hand down her side – marvelling at how she did not flinch when his thumb ran over her scars – to come to rest firmly on her hip. He pushed into her hips again as he gripped her hip firmly, pinning her to the couch and dipped a thumb beneath the waistband of her jeans. She responded by shivering deliciously against him and latched her lips to his neck. He hissed out at the feeling, shifted his weight to her side and brought his hand to the center of her pants and undid the button before slowly pulling down the fly. Pressing into her once more Hermione moaned but then her hand fell from where it had been tightly gripping his back to grab his wrist gently.

“I-I’m not sure I’m ready,” Hermione said in a breathless whisper, her lips breaking from his neck as she looked toward his face. “I- I don’t know if I’m ready to – to do _that_.”

Hermione looked at Harry and was a little surprised to see that he smiled. She hadn’t been sure what would happen if she put the breaks on their situation but she hadn’t exactly anticipated him smiling about it. She knew Harry wasn’t pushy – but still.

“Hermione,” he said as he leaned forward to kiss her once gently. “I wasn’t planning for us to do _that_ , I was just going to touch you – if you want me to. But we don’t have to do anything else, or anything that you don’t want.”

Hermione’s mind blanked as his words. _He was going to touch me_ , her heart raced and she felt a deep red blush consume her face as she realized what he had meant. She hadn’t even thought about doing _other things_ , her body thus far had just been reacting instinctively to everything that had happened. She’d only even thought about where things were headed when she felt the button of her pants undo and a brief wave of panic hit her as she urgently realized that she wasn’t sure if she was ready to have sex. She turned her eyes away from Harry’s instead looking at his right ear. She didn’t know what to say now. The truth was that she _did_ want Harry to touch her. She was impossibly wound up and wanted to know what it would feel like to have him touch her – but she felt incredibly embarrassed to say that out loud. And incredibly selfish. She flicked her eyes back to his, bit her lip and then looked away again as her mind mulled over formulating an _appropriate_ response.

“It’s okay Hermione,” he said gently as he started to pull his away. “I won’t do anything.”

Hermione’s grip tightened and she held his hand from pulling away completely. Her eyes were downcast and she felt embarrassmed as the next words slipped through her lips.

“No I – I want you to,” she glanced back up at him under her lashes, nervous to see his expression.

His eyes darkened at her words and she saw lustful desire cross his face as he slowly smiled. She let go of his wrist and shakily brought her hand back around his back as her heart hammered in anticipation in her chest. He kissed her lips, then her jaw, then the sides of her mouth before latching his lips back to hers.

“Just relax,” he breathed against her lips as his hand moved back to the waist of her pants. “And tell me if you want me to stop.”

She nodded against his lips and then clenched the fabric of his sweater between her fingers as his hand slipped slowly below her jeans. His hand was warm, and he gently pressed it against her mound above her knickers. His movements were paced, giving her plenty of time to stop him as he ran a finger over her slit above her wet knickers. She shuddered beneath his touch, inhaling sharply at the intense and pleasant wave that rolled through her. He continued to gently tease his fingers above her knickers, rubbing her gently and eliciting small moans and intakes of breath. Then kissing her deeply he slipped his hand below her knickers and traced a finger along her slick folds.

Hermione’s mouth fell open as a deep moan escaped her and her head fell back once more. He traced her slit again, feeling her unconsciously push up against his hand as her body craved more contact. He complied and gently stoked her, circling his fingers until he found the small nub toward the top of her slit. Hermione’s breath caught as a strangled moan came from her lips. He grinned against her neck as he began to stroke and circle her clit, pressing gently against it to match the rocking of her hips.

Hermione’s mind was filled with the sensation of Harry. His lips against her neck, his hand that propped her head up and added gentle pressure at the base of her neck, his fingers – _Oh god his fingers_ – she cried internally as he flicked her clit gently again. _Fuck, fuck, shit, holy shit!_ Her internal monologue of profanities continued to pick up the pace as her hips rocked more quickly against his fingers and Harry stroked her wet folds with a precision that she did not even know was possible. She thanked any deity that might be listening for his skilled fingers, and marvelled at how quickly he had started to pick up on her cues – listening to her breath, watching her motions, gauging her reactions and constantly adjusting his pressure and his touch to give her what she wanted. The profanities and partial words that had been streaming through her head fell from her lips as she panted into his ear and Harry continued to work his fingers over her.

“Oh fuck Harry,” the words fell out of her mouth and she clutched his back tightly as the pressure that had been building at her core compounded to an impossible level. She felt like she was going to explode, the coil was wound impossibly tight – too tight. “Har – Harry I – I think I’m going to – fuck – Harry – I“

Her words were lost to another moan as her brain seemed to stop functioning and Harry kissed her deeply as his fingers worked more quickly against her clit, pressing intent small circles over her.

“Let go Hermione,” he spoke as his head dropped down to her ear and he pulled her tighter into him and worked his hand more intently. “Let go – and come, come for me.”

His voice reverberated down her spine as his finger pressed down on her clit and he stroked her more quickly. Her body shuddered and she convulsed against him as a deep, desperate, moan ripped from her throat. She clung to him as she came, her hips moving against his hand as she rode the wave that washed over her, white flashed in her eyes as she closed them impossibly tight. Her mouth fell open as she sputtered more profanities and praise against his ear as she dropped her head to his shoulder. His hand slowed against her, gently stroking her down from her high as she melted in his arms.

She felt like a decade of stress had just vanished from her body. She was warm, relaxed – she felt like her bones had disappeared and her bone was completely limp in Harry’s arms as he pulled his hand away from her center to rest it gently at her side. He kissed her lips, her face, her eyes and her nose – and she lay there like an incapable sack of potatoes.

Slowly she opened her eyes to look up at him, he was smiling down at her, and she felt another blush creep over her face as the intimacy of what happened started to sink in. She was too tired and much too calm and relaxed to react, but still she felt a bit self-conscious about coming harder than she ever had under Harry’s touch.

“Hey,” he said softly as he stroked the back of her neck with his thumb that was still bracing her head.

“Hey,” she said breathlessly as she continued to stare up at him with hazy eyes.

“Feel better?”

“Yes,” the word left her lips with the slightest exhaled laugh. She did feel better, far less tense, far less pent up and much, _much_ , happier. She wondered if Harry had been intending to _help_ her with her stress and pent up frustration all along.

He grinned down at her before placing a lazy kiss on her lips.

“I’m glad,” he spoke softly. Looking over her face and noticing how her eyes blinked heavily as she looked up at him. “Want to go to bed?”

Hermione’s heart fluttered at the thought. Harry had just voluntarily touched her – almost everywhere – accepted her scarred body, and just relieved her of her earlier tension and pent up frustration. And he did not ask for anything in return, just if she wanted to go to bed. A part of her wanted to repay him, to feel more of him, maybe see if she could do something to help him relieve his own pent up tension. But her breathing was slow and her eyes felt like lead after her intense orgasm, and going to bed sounded like the best thing in the fucking world. She smiled at him and kissed him sleepily before agreeing.

They detangled themselves from the couch and then not bothering to button up her pants she staggered sleepily to the bathroom to quickly brush her teeth, wash her face and use the loo. She pulled on the plaid pajama bottoms that she had brought with her, fuzzy socks and a thin tank top. She was still impossibly warm, and she did not feel like wearing a heavy sweater to bed. _Besides,_ she thought sleepily as she opened the bathroom door, _Harry had said ‘want to go to bed’, not ‘you should go to bed’_. And she had no intention of sleeping alone tonight.

Hermione crawled into Harry’s bunk while he was using the washroom. She had worried that if she crawled into her own it might not send the right message and he may not know to come join her. _Message sent_ , she thought as she snuggled up under the blanket and waited for him to return. The loose-fitting tank top that she wore revealed her top scar most prominently – but tonight, it wasn’t even a thought. Her eyes had already drifted closed when she heard Harry come from the bathroom and felt the bunk sink as he sat on the edge before climbing in completely and pulling her to his chest.

She snuggled into him, back against his chest, face toward the tent wall as she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione investigates the golden bands, they discuss what happens and Hermione indicates her stance on the relationship while reflecting on her feelings and fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Well… it’s Tuesday! I hope you’re all having a good day. I’m sorry that my ‘Sunday’ post is so late, I had this written up but I was unhappy with how some parts sounded so I spent Monday night reworking parts and then it got pretty long so I decided to slice it into two chapters. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy Chapter 12!  
> 2\. Likely won’t be a Wednesday chapter this week, as I will be posting two today!  
> 3\. Please let me know what you think, I always read the comments and feedback and I find it really helpful to keep improving :)  
> 4\. I love all your faces <3 so much!
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe. 
> 
> Updates on Sunday +/- a few days.

**Warnings:**

This chapter contains: explicit smut (which can be skipped without missing out on main plot)

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Harry woke feeling warm and cozy, it was definitely one of the better sleeps he had ever had while camping in this godforsaken tent during the winter. He could feel Hermione’s body still pressed up against his, her deep breathing and limp body suggested that she was still fast asleep and unaware that Harry had woken up beside her. While he held her firmly to his chest his mind raced over the events of the night before. They had been having fun, probably one of the first times that they’d had fun since the wedding, they had been laughing and talking and enjoying each other’s company. It had been so _nice –_ he hated using such an overused word to describe it, but honestly it was nice. It had been pleasant and wonderful and comfortable to just sit and enjoy spending time together – to talk like normal humans instead of discussing the war and Horcruxes like they usually did. At some point the conversation had turned personal and things got more intimate, though the atmosphere remained comfortable.

When Hermione had grabbed his hand and pulled it to her chest the air felt thick and her eyes shone with what could only be described as desire. It had made his heart clench in his chest, unsure of what she would want or what she would be willing to do with her own feelings. When she leaned forward toward him, he couldn't stop himself from closing the distance further and reaching out to touch her face – though he maintained his position to not initiate anything physical between them without her doing it first or without her asking him to. If nothing else, Harry Potter strived to be a man of his word. He wanted to be honest and reliable – he did _not_ want to be known as a liar. Harry had faced enough of that shit in fifth year to make his skin crawl. That bitch Rita Skeeter had labelled him a liar, fraud and tried to disgrace his name. Between the articles and the ministry, even some of his peers had begun to mistrust him and they refused to believe him. Harry understood the importance of integrity and he planned to keep his through and through. He would _never_ give anyone any reason to _actually_ doubt him or mistrust his word – so no matter how badly he wanted to kiss her, he wouldn’t. Not without her asking him to or without her starting it first, because that was the promise he had made her.

When she _had_ asked him to kiss her, his heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest from excitement – he was elated and eager to comply. It took every ounce of the control he had not to ravage her mouth and touch her intimately. He strained to keep himself composed, understanding the important delicacy of the situation and not wanting a repeat of what happened in the kitchen when they kissed the first time. So, he moved slowly and cautiously with every touch and every movement.

When she asked him to touch her, he was positively ecstatic, he had honestly not expected her to come around on the idea so quickly after the last incident. So not only was he excited because he got to touch her – _obviously_ he had wanted to and was fucking thrilled at the prospect of finally feeling her skin against his, but mostly his excitement was because her request was proof of her coming to terms with her scars and proof of the trust that she held in him. It sounded weird to say it – but Harry felt honoured by her request and endeavoured to ensure that she enjoyed everything. Each touch was gentle, each movement carefully placed and slow as he felt her flinch under his hands until eventually, she calmed and was able to enjoy their closeness without physically reacting to his touch in such a jolting way. He’d worked patiently over her skin, watching and listening intently in case she told him to stop – but much to his delight, they worked through her insecurities and Harry was able to run his hands fully over her chest with no hesitation from Hermione – her only reaction the soft moans that made him even fucking harder. After that… things escalated quickly.

He was ridiculously hard against his jeans the whole time. She tasted like the sweet tea they had been drinking and she smelt like parchment, fresh cool air and something else he couldn't identify. It made his stomach turn over and his dick strain against his pants even more. Grinding into her had been pure bliss, but from the start he never intended to do anything more than that. He did however, hope that he might be able to get her off and help her reduce some of the visible tension and stress that she had been carrying around for the last few months.

Harry wasn't overly concerned about his own _problem_ , he could take care of that alone later in the bathroom later. He was a _man_ after all and masturbating was _not_ an issue for him. He’d been doing it semi-regularly for the whole duration of their camping Horcrux hunting adventure – particularly when he found himself getting too tense. It wasn't a daily thing, he wasn't like some of his friends – _Ron,_ he thought with an internal eye roll – who couldn't seem to get by one day without wanking it. No… Harry indeed had some self-control when it came to personal pleasure, but he did it often enough to prevent his stress and tension from becoming a problem. Though, he suspected Hermione did not – based on her ever-increasing tension. Knowing her, being a bit uptight as she was, he suspected that she had issues letting go and finding release. He highly doubted that she had touched herself once while in the tent – possibly ever? He wasn’t sure.

So, as he touched her he made sure to watch her expressions and sounds, bringing her closer and closer to release with each stroke. She was already slick when he slid his hand over her knickers and that made his length twitch against his jeans in response. Working her clit until she reached climax was like reaching his own little high, he felt accomplished and pleased as he watched her eyes squeeze shut, felt her convulse against him, grip his sweater tightly and shudder as she rode her orgasm to completion. It was intoxicating … she was beautiful when she came, and he had held back a groan at the sight. Fuck he wanted her. He wanted to explore her whole body, he wanted release, he wanted to be with her in every way of it – but the sleepy haze in her eyes was evident and he could tell that she was in a daze from her intense climax. _Tonight is not the night_ , he had thought as he held her relaxed and limp form close to his chest. Besides, he did not want to rush anything with Hermione. He understood that their situation was complicated and precarious and that she had some reservations about ‘being together’ due to the war. Her progress in accepting her marred body and allowing him to touch her and even being able to enjoy it was more than enough. They had time, and they would move on to other things together when the time felt right and when they were both ready for it. 

Instead, they went to bed. Not wanting to be blue balled and uncomfortable for the remainder of the night Harry had finished himself off in the bathroom before crawling into his bunk next to Hermione. When he came, he pictured her wriggling under his touch and the expression on her face when she came – _he_ had done that, _he_ had made her come, made her feel good and that was enough to send him over the edge. As he had exited the bathroom, he wasn’t sure where she would be, in his bunk or her own. If she had decided to retire to her own bunk he had resolved to sleep in his own, alone, and give her the space that she would have clearly been requesting. When he walked around the small corner from the bathroom and saw the lumped blankets of his bunk in the dim light and the untouched sheets of her own, he could not help himself but smile – he’d never been more excited to crawl into bed.

Now snuggling his nose into the back of her neck he sighed out in happiness. Despite everything that was going on – the fucking werewolves, the stress of trying to find Horcruxes despite not actually having a clue what he was doing, and the threat of ever-looming war – _this_ gave him _hope_. This motivated him to be better, to be _more_ and to continue fighting no matter how bad things got. Harry wanted to know what a future with Hermione might bring. Whether their intimacy would only ever remain in this tent, whether it progressed past anything that had happened tonight or not, or whether it continued into the future for however long – it didn’t matter. Either way, he knew that Hermione was more important to him than he could possibly define. And he would do whatever it took to keep her safe, to ensure that they had the opportunity to figure out things between them – because this was worth fighting for.

-x-x-

Hermione woke to the smell of bacon and eggs. Rolling over in Harry’s bunk she saw him in the kitchen preparing breakfast and could not stop the smile and blush that broke out on her face. Images from the night before rushed through her mind and she buried her face into the pillow. Last night was, well… _last night was fucking incredible_ , she thought. Everything about their conversation, their touches, their snogging, and Harry’s hands pouring over her had been surreal. She couldn’t believe how relaxed she felt, and she couldn’t believe that Harry had touched her _there_ in that way and had made her come.

She could feel her blush intensify as she kept her face firmly planted in the pillow. She had never been touched by anyone but herself before and she had certainly never been touched like _that_ before. It had been so incredibly _intense_ and exciting and – she really had no words to describe it. It was like nothing she had ever felt or experienced before. _It felt so fucking good_ , she groaned lightly as she shook her head against the pillow and her stomach twisted over in both excitement and embarrassment at the thought of it. Her biggest fear was that now that she’d had it – she’d want it again.

It took several moments for Hermione to collect herself and roll out of bed to go help Harry with the breakfast. Their interactions were normal – except that when she approached him she placed her hand softly on his side and he leaned toward her and kissed her gently on her temple when she stood next to him at the counter to pull out plates, to which she blushed deeply – and they ate breakfast in their usual fashion before continuing with their normal workout routine. The weather was still horribly cold, but at least the sleet and snow had stopped so they were able to practice outside and complete a full duel. They returned back to the tent nearly 3 hours later, panting, exhausted, soaking wet from their own sweat and pleased with the fact that they had managed to increase their shield charms by another minute each.

The afternoon was quiet, they ate a quick lunch, and then Harry read while Hermione started to examine the gold bracelets that she had collected off the werewolf and snatcher. She had attempted to read at first but found herself too distracted thinking about the night before and wondering what was going through Harry’s mind – he had not mentioned anything about their _activities –_ so she decided to try a task that required more concentration and mental capacity.

She was extremely careful not to touch the bracelets herself or allow them to touch anything other than the inside of the black metal box that she had originally stored them in. The box had been given to her by Mad Eye Moody during the summer before he was killed. It was a special charmed metal that did not allow any curses to propagate through it and when closed it kept the object inside completely sealed, undetectable and untraceable. Mad Eye had told her that he used it as an Auror to store items taken off his targets that looked ‘ _interesting’_ but likely ‘ _posed a potential to make your insides melt, your heart explode from your mouth, or your eyes boil out’._ Hermione was not sure exactly what objects Mad Eye had put in the box before her – frankly, she did not enjoy thinking about her insides melting, heart exploding from her mouth, or her eyes boiling – but she had accepted the gift anyway as she thought it might prove useful in the future.

As she worked, she conducted several detection charms, trace charms and tested the metal to confirm its make-up and determine if the bracelets had any core or embedded materials. She kept a notebook open next to her to record her findings and she managed to work the entire afternoon with no distracting thoughts until Harry gently touched her shoulder and told her that dinner was ready. It was late, past 9 and her stomach growled loudly as she carefully packed up the bracelets and locked the chest. She had been so focused that she did not realize how late it had gotten, though she was glad that she had spent the afternoon productively instead of overthinking the previous night’s activities. She joined Harry at the table for some shepherd’s pie and veggies, thankful that Harry had at least been paying attention to the time and talked about her findings so far with him.

“So, I’m pretty sure that the bracelet involves either blood binding or soul binding magic, and there seems to be a core in the bracelet – I still have to determine how to access it without damaging it though as it seems to be embedded,” Hermione said as she held another bit of pie on her fork.

“How will you determine which one it is?” Harry asked after he swallowed his own bite of pie.

“Well, I have to do a bit of reading on that – there is a spell you can use but, it’s complicated and the results might not be accurate. There may be a test potion I could brew as well or possibly a diagnostic – I’m going to look at that this week and try to get this sorted out. Honestly, though – I sort of hope it’s blood magic,” Hermione said with a grimace as she finished her pie and took a drink of water. “Soul binding is incredible difficult and rare – and dangerous, and there just isn’t a lot of information on it because it _is_ so complex. Blood magic – although typically dark magic – can sometimes actually be good, like the protection your mother gave you and there is a lot more research documented on it. It’s possible that if this involves blood magic that it could become useful in another way – I might be able to repurpose it – IF I can figure it out.”

Harry grinned at her widely and jostled her knee gently under the table with his own.

“You are _so_ brilliant Hermione,” Harry's voice was sincere, no hint of teasing as he looked at her with slight awe. “You _would_ be looking at this trying to figure out how to use the bracelets and blood magic for good. You blow me away sometimes, you know that? – if there is anything I can do to help let me know.”

Hermione blushed lightly at his compliment and gave him a shy grin.

“Thanks Harry,” she said as she started to collect their empty plates on the table. "Of course I will let you know.”

“Hermione,” Harry spoke quietly, his eyes catching hers as she looked up from the stack of plates she’d made. “About last night.”

Hermione visibly tensed, her hand frozen by the now-empty pie dish. She looked at Harry’s bright greens eyes and a wave of panic hit her. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,_ she thought. _I don’t know what to say about last night, I don’t want to have ‘the talk’ about our relationship, because I don’t know that this is!_ Her thoughts were racing, and her heart started to pound. She had hoped that Harry would understand that she was unsure of things given the war and that she was nervous to try and define anything when they were living in undefined uncertainty. She had thought Harry understood. Yes, last night had been incredible. No, she could not deny that she had feelings for Harry. Yes, she wanted things to continue. Yes, she wanted to do _that_ again. No, she didn’t know what this was. No, her position on them having a relationship hadn’t changed since their last conversation. And Yes, she desperately wished that things were simpler.

“Harry, I-“ she started nervously before Harry cut her off.

“I know you’re still unsure and don’t want to define things,” Harry interjected as he reached out to take her still hovering hand in his own and placed it on the table between them before rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “I’m not going to ask you to change your position on that. I just wanted to make sure that you are okay with everything that happened last night.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open slightly. _Of course I’m okay with it_ , she thought in disbelief. He had been there, she had asked him to do it and he had seen her fall apart in his arms. She realized that he must be just checking in to ensure she didn’t have any regrets about it – _like buyer’s regret_ , she almost laughed internally.

“Yes, of course Harry,” she blushed furiously as she forced herself to maintain eye contact as relief flooded her body - glad that Harry still understood her position. Then she continued in a much quieter voice. “I asked you to.”

“I know,” Harry said blushing himself as he glanced down at their intertwined hands between them before looking back at her. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t regret anything this morning. Because – well – I certainly enjoyed myself… and it sort of looked like you did to. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t regret it, that's all.”

“No,” Hermione said firmly and slightly more loud than necessary. “Not at all, I don’t regret it.”

Her blush deepened as she squeezed Harry’s hand. _So,_ she thought, _this was about ‘buyer’s’ regret._

“I really, enjoyed it,” she said looking up at him from her lashes. “You were – I mean, it was really good – I – thank you, for doing that – and for not pushing for anything else. I – I’m sorry you were, erm, you were – that I didn’t return the favour.”

Harry laughed at this as he blushed further and he brought her hand up to his mouth to kiss the back of her knuckles again gently.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said with a wink as he placed their hands back on the table. “I’m just fine. But I’m glad Hermione – I’m glad that you enjoyed it. I promised you before that I wouldn’t push for anything, and I won’t – I won’t ask you to change your stance on defining anything. I’m happy to have what we do, and I’m happy to be with you in any way that you’re comfortable. I know that things are a bit crazy right now, I get it – we can talk through stuff later - if you want - when things are less uncertain.”

Hermione’s heart thumped painfully in her chest. It felt like she had been stabbed in the heart and his words were melting her core, making her both incredibly happy and incredibly sad – and almost _guilty_. Harry was so accepting, so willing to take whatever she would give and not ask for anything in return. He was so willing to give to her and place his heart in her hands. She knew that physical closeness was emotional too and that what happened between them was affecting him as much as it was her. It made her want to crawl across the table to kiss him and tell him that she wanted him forever – but her logical side still doubted, still cautioned and still warded against making any such commitments in a time of war. She squeezed his hand tightly as she smiled sadly at him. She wished she could give him what she knew he wanted but wouldn’t ask for, but she wasn’t sure that she could. She didn’t want to make a mistake, she didn’t want to regret things later or compromise their mission.

Harry’s words from their conversation weeks ago crept back into her mind – that _this_ was what they were fighting for and that closeness was strength. She thought of Remus and Tonks, and then of Harry’s own parents who had stood together to protect Harry – leaving him with the ultimate protection as a result. Her heart lurched again as she felt torn. Then nervously, she wondered if Harry would appreciate some middle ground, maybe if she was more blunt in announcing her feelings.

“Thank you, Harry, for respecting my position,” she started slowly, her eyes darting from his face to his chest as she felt her chest tighten. “I know I’m probably frustrating. I really don’t mean to be difficult – I _need_ you to know that I _do_ care about you. More than anything – I – I’m just worried that this could compromise our mission and be a distraction. And I’m worried about making commitments while in the middle of a war – ones that we might not even be able to keep. But – I – I can’t pretend like I don’t have feelings for you Harry – that I want you.”

She looked nervously at their hands for a moment and Harry waited for her to continue. She desperately hoped that Harry understood her hesitation wasn’t about him, that it was only about the war – about making a commitment that they might not get to keep if the war ended badly. That being together meant having so much more to lose.

“I don’t want to confuse you, send mixed signals or stress you out, so if being close physically is too much I understand – and I won’t initiate anything else – but I do _want_ to be close to you, and I – if you’re okay with just allowing things to be as they are – to just be ourselves however it feels right – I’d really like that. And – I want you to know that it’s okay, if you – if you want to kiss me,” she looked up at him slowly and saw that he was staring at her intently. “I know that’s a lot to ask of you, and I promise that when the war is over, and things are less crazy we can talk and figure things out. I know what I’m asking for is unfair so if it’s easier to just drop this then that’s okay too.”

Hermione looked at him in anticipation, waiting for him to reply as she clutched his hand now with both of her own.

“Can I touch you?” Harry asked, his voice had dropped down into its deep baritone and he was looking at her with intense eyes.

“Yes,” she shivered. She hadn’t been expecting that response, at all, and the reply slipped from her lips before she could even debate it.

Harry squeezed her hands tightly before dropping his eyes to the table and taking a deep breath. When he looked back up his eyes had lightened some and it looked like he had regained some self control.

“Hermione, you’re not being difficult,” he said in a softer voice, though the deep rumbling baritone was still present. “I _do_ understand, you’re worried that being together means having more to lose – and frankly you’re right. I just look at it a different way. I see it as having more to fight for. You’re locking your feelings up to protect yourself and those they are for, and I respect that. I know you’re not the type to lead people on, so don’t worry about that.”

Harry smiled at her before he stood to collect the plates from the table and bring them to the kitchen counter and return back to the table. Though instead of sitting down in his seat opposite her, he walked around to stand behind her and ducked his head close to her left ear.

“I’m more than happy to accept what you’re willing to give me, Hermione,” he spoke softly against her ear and Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine. “We can sort things out later when it’s less complicated. But – for now”

Harry placed a small kiss on the side of her neck just below her ear.

“I do want to kiss you,” his words were a whisper and Hermione could almost feel herself becoming instantly wet as he spoke – tentatively placing his hand on her right side.

Hermione turned her head toward him and locked her lips to his. Her movements driven by instinct she reached up to place her hand in his hair – their angle was awkward but not uncomfortable as Harry leaned down from behind her to kiss her lips intensely. His hand on her side grazed her skin at the hem of her sweater before coming up the side of her thick sweater and tracing across her stomach where he grabbed her other side, firmly locking her between his arm and his front. She groaned as his other hand gently traced her neck and the side of her face as he continued to kiss her deeply.

After several moments he broke away and Hermione was left breathless and panting, eyes hazy and staring at him wantonly.

“Well, it’s getting a bit late,” Harry said with a false nonchalance as he rubbed the back of his head with his hand. “I’m going to go get ready for bed.”

With that Harry turned and headed to the bathroom and Hermione sat in disbelief, her hand now clutched the front of her sweater. _Fuck_ , she thought, and she stifled a groan as the bathroom door closed. Harry was right – she was hiding from her emotions, refusing to admit them – because admitting them made them real. Which then meant she had more to lose. She was avoiding making any of this real by keeping things undefined – because she was afraid to lose Harry. She was afraid to lose what they had. And Harry, being Harry, was willing to accept her bullshit, her fears, her doubts and just take her as she was. She sighed and dropped her head to the table with a thud. _He’s also going to get me so fucking riled up and snog me into submission_ , she thought with a snort. But, on the bright side, at least he understood her intentions and didn't think that she was unsure about him.

Several minutes later Harry exited the bathroom and Hermione went to get ready for bed. They each slept in their own bunks that night. Harry fell asleep quickly, exhausted from the day’s duel and pleased with how his conversation had gone with Hermione – especially the way it had ended. He figured that in her own time she would come to terms with her feelings and eventually accept them and stop viewing them as a weakness. Hermione listened to the sound of the loud waves of the North Sea crashing against the rocks as she laid awake pondering their relationship. Thinking about how Harry chose to see things and whether or not that might be an acceptable way to view her own feelings.

-x-x-

The next three days passed quickly. They prepared meals, took turns with the night shift watches, cleaned the tent, worked out, duelled intensely, practiced their shield spells, and completed their new close-quarters circle drill inside the tent. Hermione spent her spare time flipping between studying her copy of _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and studying the bracelets while Harry read and practiced some healing spells. They did not talk any further about their relationship, but they both accepted the agreement to just be themselves and allow physical closeness when it was desired – thus, allowing Hermione comfort in not actually acknowledging the relationship so she could protect herself and Harry. While Harry appreciated the closeness he had with Hermione and felt confident in Hermione’s outright declaration that she did care for him and want him. They did also snog two times… and Harry did touch her once more.

The first kiss happened the first day after their conversation. Hermione hit Harry with a leg locker curse during their duel and she laughed at him as he toppled over into a particularly deep snowdrift. After climbing in to cast the counter curse and help fish him out she kissed him softly as the snow started to fall once more. It was an innocent kiss, gentle, sweet and slow and only lasted just over a minute before she pulled away and they returned to the tent to warm up.

The second kiss was much more… _intense_ and happened after dinner on the second night. Hermione was cleaning the dishes in the kitchen when Harry stepped up behind her and placed both hands on her hips – effectively pinning her to the counter. He had lowered his head down next to her ear and told her that she was _fucking incredible_. Hermione did not know what she had done to deserve his words that day – she did not do anything spectacular or have any profound moments of insight, but they ended up snogging intensely.

Harry’s left hand had travelled up her stomach and across her chest to gently massage her right breast as his right hand travelled down, low, toward her hips. His thumb trailed along the top of her jeans, brushing against her skin lightly until it dipped just below the fabric causing her breath to hitch. She’d murmured the words _“Harry, pl-please – touch me”_ in between their kiss and groaned loudly when he compiled – unbuttoning her jeans and slipping his hand between her legs. She could feel his hard erection pressing into her backside and it only turned her on further as Harry’s fingers found her clit and began tracing small circles over it. His left hand moving to her neck as he kissed her deeply and stroked her wet folds. Harry had pressed his hard length into her, and she pressed her hips back into him as she nibbled his lip and moaned against him while shivering at their contact. The coil in her core wound tighter with each stroke, each kiss – Harry nipping at her neck as she ground back into his erection and drew small groans of pleasure from his lips. When she finally climaxed, she came hard, gripping the counter for support while Harry clutched her tightly to his chest to keep her from falling as her knees buckled. He spun her around, pushing her back into the counter and kissed her slowly, deeply and with a want she had never felt while she came down from her high. The whole experience left her feeling light-headed with a tingling sensation coursing through her body. They’d parted slowly as if in a daze.

The remainder of the evening they spent curled up on the couch with hot tea, Hermione leaning against Harry, his arm wrapped around her and both reading quietly. Before they went to bed Harry kissed her gently and it left her mind pondering her decision to continue leaving things undefined. Her goal wasn’t to leave herself room for escape later in case she changed her mind. She wasn’t only going after the physical contact with no commitment – if anything, the last three days had her heart bursting with even more feelings for Harry. Her goal was simple and it was just as Harry had said – she was avoiding acknowledging her feelings, because she did not want to make their relationship _real_ because she could not stand the idea of having even more to lose in this war.

Though, she was finding it difficult to continue convincing herself that she and Harry weren’t a ‘thing’, and she was starting to realize that choosing to not talk about it or label it wouldn’t keep it from being ‘real’. She knew that maintaining her position on not confirming a relationship had everything to do with her admitting it would _kill_ her if she lost him – that she was _afraid_ to lose him. But, she also knew he mattered more to her than anything else regardless of whatever label she slapped on it, regardless of whether or not she said it out loud. So… she began to wonder why she was so afraid of outwardly acknowledging it.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussing Horcruxes and a trip to Godric's Hollow, what could possibly go wrong...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Here is the next chapter that I accidentally wrote early haha... I hope that you enjoy it!  
> 2\. There won't be another chapter this week. I'll try for Sunday though :)  
> 3\. Comments and feedback are always appreciated :) 
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING <3
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Updates on Sunday +/- a few days.

On the 17th of December she sat in _her_ _circle_ on the tent floor surrounded by a large pile of books when Harry approached her.

“Hermione?” his voice was curious but sounded a bit hesitant.

“Hm?” she looked up from her copy of _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ as he sat down in front of her next to a particularly tall stack of books. She eyed him curiously when she saw him fidget with his fingers, this was rather odd behaviour for Harry. They had obviously become extremely _close_ over the last few months, and she could not remember the last time he looked nervous like this before talking to her.

“Hermione, I’ve been thinking – and I know that you’re probably not going to like this, but I want you to hear me out okay?”

Hermione closed the book slightly, keeping her page with her finger and sat up a bit straighter to give Harry her full attention. Harry’s nervous look made her a bit anxious – she recognized the look in his eyes from when they were kids, he was about to ask something that might be dangerous or go against their _safety rules_ because he thought whatever the thing was, was worth the risk. She pushed down her anxiety and took a quick breath before nodding. She trusted Harry and she knew he wouldn’t ask for something that made him nervous like this unless it was important.

“Okay, then I have a question for you after – so, let’s hear it,” she said as she leaned her elbows on her knees and looked up at Harry.

“I’ve been thinking. I – I want to go to Godric’s Hollow.”

Hermione sighed quietly as she rubbed her eye tiredly with her hand.

“Yes,” she said somewhat quietly. “Yes, I’ve been wondering that too. I really think we’ll have too.”

“Really?” Harry looked at her with a small amount of disbelief.

“Yes,” she laughed gently as she ran her hand over her hair to push it out of her face. “I’m starting to run out of ideas as to where else to look for the sword. It will be dangerous, but frankly the birth place of Gryffindor is starting to sound like a better and better idea each day.”

Harry nodded as a small chuckle escaped his lips.

“I’ll be honest Hermione, my reasons for wanting to go are two-fold – I want to see my parents’ grave – the house – I – I want to be there, to see it. And the second is the sword. I was doing some reading and Bathilda Bagshot lived in Godric’s Hollow. I thought it’s possible that she might know something – assuming we would be able to find her.”

“Harry it’s possible she might even have the sword,” Hermione said with more enthusiasm. “Dumbledore _knew_ her, it is possible that he left her the sword, or maybe at least told her something – expecting us to go there because you would want to.”

Her voice softened and she placed a gentle hand on his knee before she continued.

“It’s only natural for you to want to see your birthplace Harry, and I think you should. Though – I do worry that _that_ in and of itself will make it more dangerous. _You know who_ is going to expect you to show up at some point. We’ll need to be extremely careful.”

“I had some thoughts on that actually,” Harry said as he placed his hand over the one Hermione had left on his knee. “We still have some Polyjuice potion leftover from when we invaded the ministry – we could snatch some hairs and arrive under disguise. Combine that with our shield charms and some disillusions and – if we’re cautious, I think we’ll be alright.”

Hermione nodded slowly in agreement.

“Okay, we’ll have to stop into a town at some point and grab some hairs – I actually don’t have any spares, but it will be a good idea to grab several for extra while we’re there and a few more supplies. We can plan that out for this week,” she withdrew her hand from Harry’s to re-open her book and turned a page toward him. Harry shuffled over to sit next to her so he could see it more clearly.

“This was what I wanted to ask you about Harry,” she said pointing to a symbol at the top of one of the pages of the book. It looked like a triangular eye its pupil crossed with a vertical line. “It’s been inked in, look, someone’s drawn it there. At first I thought it was just an image above the story like some of the other chapters – so I didn’t notice it right away. Have you ever seen this symbol before? I’ve been looking through my old notes and texts and it doesn’t seem to be a rune or a symbol.”

“I’m not sure,” Harry said as he frowned and looked at the symbol. “Wait – wait, isn’t it the same symbol Luna’s dad was wearing round his neck at the wedding?”

“That’s what I thought too!” Hermione said as she turned to look Harry in the eyes. “But I didn’t get a good look at the wedding, so I wasn’t sure, and wanted you to confirm.”

“Then it’s Grindelwald’s mark.”

Hermione blinked at the matter of fact way Harry spoke and stared at him blankly.

“What?”

“Sorry – Krum told me, I never even thought to mention it, I’d completely forgotten,” Harry said somewhat sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

Harry recounted the conversation he had had with Krum at the wedding, how the mark belonged to the dark wizard Grindelwald – who killed many people including Krum’s grandfather – and how he was very powerful until he was defeated by Dumbledore. Harry had no idea why Xenophilius would be wearing the symbol of such a horrible wizard, and he only hoped it was because Xenophilius did not realize what the mark meant. Hermione found the entire thing rather irritating, as there was not a documented connection between the symbol and Grindelwald in any text she had seen. There was also no reason for a dark mark if Krum was to be believed, to be written in a children’s book. They agreed it was odd and likely had been intentionally added to the pages by someone – though it was unclear if the marking was by Dumbledore himself.

They agreed to look for the symbol in a few of the restricted section books that Hermione had been carrying around while preparing for their trip to Godric’s Hollow. Hermione was hesitant to go until they could both produce a shield charm lasting over 14 minutes each, and they needed to collect some hair from unsuspecting muggles – which meant a trip to town during the day.

Over the next week they practiced their duelling intensely, worked on their shielding charms, and completed a very quick in and out mission to a nearby town to collect several hair samples while disillusioned and holding hands – they maintained their contact so that they would be prepared for a quick apparition away if trouble arose. The trip to town was uneventful and Hermione and Harry even managed to grab a few extra supplies from a small store before heading back to the tent. Each hair sample collected was carefully bottled with a label attached describing the person who it belonged to. Hermione was pleased that she managed to snag an additional six different samples so they would have plenty of new disguises if the situation ever called for it. On one of their preparation days Hermione mastered a simple spell to vanish footsteps in the snow. She taught it to Harry, and they practiced it outside for half an hour before they began their duelling exercises.

After a week, Hermione and Harry felt prepared to go to Godric’s Hollow. They had their disguises ready, disillusionment charms perfected, could vanish their tracks, felt at the top of their game regarding physical shape and duelling abilities and could now successfully implement their shield charms for 15 minutes each. They agreed to apparate to Godric’s Hollow in the evening to avoid any major crowds but still be able to potentially locate Bathilda – the middle of the night seemed like an inappropriate time to go knocking on an old women’s door. So, they ate a quick dinner, cleaned up, packed everything up including the tent and then choked down the disgusting brew that was Polyjuice.

Harry transformed into a balding, middle-aged muggle man. He felt himself get just an inch shorter and he looked over at Hermione who had turned into his small rather mousy looking wife. They laughed at each other’s appearances nervously and Harry tried to tame the rolling of his stomach when he thought about where they were going. Casting their disillusionment charms they stood close to each other, Hermione’s transformed hand holding Harry’s tightly before they apparated away.

-x-x-

They landed in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky in which the first stars were already glimmering feebly. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows. A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the center of the village. Harry and Hermione stood stock still with their wands outstretched as they quickly looked around – hands still clamped together. There would be no _homenum_ _revelio_ or detection charms here, they already knew that they were surrounded by people.

They wandered cautiously down the snowy lane, looking at each cottage with uncertainty. Hermione and Harry both vanished their steps as they went, maintaining their disillusion despite their use of Polyjuice potion. They had no idea where Harry’s home was or where Bathilda might live and being so exposed in such a public place made them both uneasy. The lane they were walking on curved to the left and at the heart of the village a small square came into view. They slowed their pace to examine the square, a small war memoriam was visible in the center of the square, surrounded by a Christmas tree, a post office, several shops and a little church across the square. Several villagers cut across the square walking quickly through the snow to their destinations. One muggle opened the door to a pub, and they heard the faint sound of laughing as Christmas carols started up at the church. Hermione cast a _muffliato_ around them before speaking.

“Harry, I think it’s Christmas Eve!” Hermione exclaimed and she clutched Harry’s hand tighter. “I was so caught up in getting prepared for today I completely lost track of my days.”

She turned to look at Harry, or where the balding middle-aged man which was Harry should be standing next to her. She could make out the small shimmer of his disillusion, but she could not see his face.

“Happy Christmas Harry,” she said gently as she squeezed his hand gently.

“Happy Christmas Hermione,” Harry responded gently beside her as he returned the squeeze.

They stood quietly for a moment before Hermione started leading them toward the church across the square.

“Your parents Harry, they might be there,” she spoke quietly as they neared the small crowd in the square.

Harry nodded, unable to speak at the thought of seeing his parents grave but knowing Hermione wouldn’t be able to see his movement he squeezed her hand again in confirmation. His heart raced as they worked their way across the square, being this open and exposed and surrounded by people made him on edge – he knew it would be a long while to reacclimatize himself to being in public after the war ended. Each movement or voice from a passing muggle made them both twitch and their eyes dart from side to side. The quiet of living in a tent for the last few months had made every noise from the village seem like it was coming from a loudspeaker and it filled his heart with unease. Being in a crowd left them open to attack from any which way, so they moved cautiously and ensured that they vanished their footsteps completely. When they passed the center of the square Harry glanced at the war memorial – no muggles seemed to notice it so he assumed that they must not be able to see it. They continued their walk across the second half of the square slowly, and Harry could feel his disillusionment charm wearing thin. So, as they passed through the gates along the side of the church to the graveyard, he pulled out his invisibility cloak from his pack and draped it over them.

The graveyard was quiet and still, snow-covered the many graves that sat in neat little rows and low hanging trees buckled under the weight of the snow. They moved in silence, up and down each small row of graves looking for the Potters.

As they looked, they noticed a tombstone for Abbott – possibly a relation to Hannah – it was interesting to think that her family may have also been from Godric’s Hollow. When they came across two particularly old looking white tombstones Hermione pulled Harry to a stop and they crouched down to get a better look. One was for Kendra Dumbledore, the other for her daughter Ariana. Small letters graced the bottom of the tomb and read: _where your treasure is, there will your heart be also_.

“Dumbledore never mentioned that he had family here did he?” Hermione asked as she looked at Harry from under the cloak. Their disillusions had worn off so she was able to see the balding muggle man next to her.

“No,” he said with a frown, shaking his head. “He never mentioned it.”

Hermione frowned in response before they stood up to keep looking. Several rows later Hermione pulled him to a stop excitedly and they both ducked down under the cloak again to get a better look.

“Harry, I think this says Potter,” she quickly dusted off the snow and old dead moss, but her movements slowed as she realized that the name on the grave read _Ignotus_. “Oh, sorry, the snow made it look like it might have been your family.”

“It’s okay Hermione,” Harry said kindly as he helped her to her feet. “We’ll keep looking.”

As they walked past another two rows of graves Harry could feel his heart start to drop. _What if they’re not here_ , he thought with agitation. Hermione must have sensed his tension because she squeezed his hand reassuringly.

They rounded toward the back of the graveyard and he spotted a white tombstone, like the Dumbledore’s, under a low hanging tree. It was a bit separated off from some of the others in the yard and the area around it felt still. He pulled Hermione toward it and as they approached, he was able to make out the words clear as day.

_James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981_

_Lily Potter, born 30 January 1960, died 31 October 1981_

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death_

Harry stood quiet and unmoving, any words he might have had died in his throat as he looked at his parents’ grave. Hermione raised her wand under the cloak and charmed a Christmas wreath, then placed it gently in his hands. Harry dropped to his knees with a small thud and placed the wreath in front of the headstones as hot tears poured from his eyes. Hermione knelt next to him and leaned her head on his shoulder. Without thinking he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tightly to his side, placing a gentle kiss on her temple.

“Thank you for being here Hermione,” he said in a whisper, the strain of his emotion evident in his voice. “Not just here, today right now – but always. Thank you. Thank you for coming with me everywhere, for helping me, for being there when I need you. I – I couldn’t do this without you. I wouldn’t be _here_ without you – thank you for agreeing to come.”

Hermione nodded against his shoulder and clutched his hand again tightly. She could not even begin to imagine how Harry felt in this moment, what must be going through his mind. So she just sat with him quietly, allowing him to feel everything that he needed to feel and to feel close to the family he never got to meet.

“The quote on their tomb is nice,” Hermione spoke quietly as she sat back a bit to look at Harry. “The idea of defeating death by living beyond it.”

Harry nodded next to her before giving her a small, sad smile, his eyes bright with tears, before pulling them both up to their feet.

As they moved their way back out of the graveyard they both could not help but feel as though they were being watched, and Hermione jumped when she thought she saw movement to her right.

“Harry,” she said quietly as they paused at the edge of the square. “I think I saw something, and whatever saw us could have seen us at your parents' grave.”

Harry nodded next to her and they locked hands more tightly, wands drawn and ready.

“Okay, let’s duck around this way,” he said as he pulled her down a path to the right. “I don’t fancy being in a crowd of unknown people cloak or not – we’ll get out of the way, look for Bathilda, but apparate out of here immediately if you see anything again.”

Hermione nodded her agreement and kept her wand pointed as they moved down the dimly lit street. Despite the dark they actually felt safer being away from the crowd – knowing that there was less chance for someone to sneak up on them and being comforted by the idea that they had room to fight or escape if necessary. After passing several cottages and looking around they started to wonder how they could possibly be successful in locating Bathilda. They were just rounding a corner and quietly discussing breaking into the post office to try and find her address when Harry froze.

A dark mass stood out in front of them to the left, it looked like the remains of a house. Harry pulled them toward it as his heart thumped loudly in his chest, the _fidelius charm_ must have ended, but the house still stood. They approached and saw the remains of rubble still littered the yard, a large and wild-looking hedge grew out of control at the front, but most of the cottage still stood. The top floor was blown apart, Harry’s heart ached as he assumed that this must have been from the attack – and he realized that perhaps he would not be handling this so well if not for Hermione gripping his hand so tightly. His heart felt heavy, over weighted and exhausted. He had not anticipated how emotional this was going to make him feel – it felt like someone was unravelling him like a ball of yarn.

Harry laid his hand on the gate as they stood in front of the house and a small sign raised up, with words still visible on the old wood:

_On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family._

Sixteen years-worth of messages had been inked and carved on the sign. The words varied but the messages were the same, ‘ _Good luck, Harry, wherever you are’, ‘If you read this, Harry, we’re all behind you!’,_ and ‘ _Long live Harry Potter!’_

Harry could feel his chest tightening as he read the words and looked back up to the top half of the exploded house. He was entranced by it until Hermione tugged his arm and he immediately felt it too. They were being watched - raising his wand he turned to see the stooped figure of an old woman approaching. She was looking at them, and back at the house – she must have been a witch to be able to see them and then she began beckoning them with her old crooked finger. Harry tightened his grip around Hermione’s as he spoke.

“Are you Mrs. Bagshot?” he asked as he kept his wand trained on the old lady.

She nodded slowly, pointed at Harry and then motioned for them to follow her as she turned to walk down the street.

“Harry,” Hermione said cautiously as she watched the old lady wobble away. “Do you think we should go? We need to be careful.”

“We’ll go,” Harry said in a whisper. “Keep your wand out, and if anything suspicious happens we get the fuck out of here. But we need to at least try – she could have the sword.”

“Okay,” Hermione nodded once in agreement. “But don’t you dare let go of my hand.”

They followed her down the lane that she had come from, staying several steps behind the old woman. As they walked, they passed several cottages until they rounded on a small one with a metal gate. Following her up the path she led them to the front door and then struggled with the key before swinging it open and allowing them entrance. The door was too narrow to allow them to walk through it together under the cloak – so begrudgingly, they removed it and Hermione stored it in her bag quickly as Harry walked first into the house.

The first thing that Harry noticed when he stepped over the threshold was the god-awful smell. The house smelt like it had been closed up for months and that something had possibly gone bad in it. Harry wondered if anyone had been by recently to check on the old woman as she walked into the front hall and pulled out some matches. Bathilda’s hands were blue and mottled, her eyes thick with cataracts and sunken into the folds of her pale skin. She looked positively ancient, her face dotted with liver spots and broken veins while she moved slower than molasses. After lighting two candles she reached up to remove her black shawl and reveal a head of white hair underneath. The room was dark, the flicker of candles cast eerie shadows on the walls and Harry noted the thick dust that seemed to cover everything in the small entrance room. The golden locket around his neck twitched against his skin making his heart jump and he looked around the room – perhaps the sword _was_ here. Bathilda then moved into the next room with the matches in hand.

“Bathilda?” Harry called out to her as he heard more matches being struck.

Hermione and Harry stood fixed to their spot and looked at each other nervously. Best case Bathilda was not a talker – worst case there was something wrong. A knowing look passed between them before they both startled at Bathilda’s voice ringing out from the other room.

“Come,” Bathilda called to them.

Harry reached out and took Hermione’s hand again before moving into the room that Bathilda had entered. It was the front sitting room, and the smell in the next room got worse as they approached Bathilda. Similar to the last room everything was covered in dust, the room was dark, the candles provided a disturbing vibe and Harry’s gut rolled over. He did not like this – he did not like this at all. But as the locket twitched lightly against his chest again, he knew that they needed to stick it out – they needed to get Bathilda to talk and see if she had the sword.

The rotting smell made the back of Harry’s throat gag, as the quiet that settled in the room seemed to thicken. Hermione gripped him like death, and he knew that she was obviously just as uncomfortable as he was. They needed to speed this up and get out of this place.

Bathilda was lighting candles by hand again but now risking her lace sleeve catching fire. Harry sighed inwardly with a groan and pulled Hermione with him to step toward Bathilda and offer to light the candles. Taking the matches from her quickly he then used his wand to lite six more as Bathilda trundled over to the fire pit and began struggling with the logs. When he lit the last candle, his eyes glanced over a large chest of drawers covered in framed photos. Casting a quick _tergeo_ , he looked over the pictures before picking one up as his back stiffened. It was the golden-haired man from his dreams who had perched on Gregorovitch’s window seal – the same man he had seen in the _Life and Times of Albus Dumbledore_ from Rita’s book.

“Mrs – Miss – Bagshot?” Harry stammered as he held up the photo. “Who is this?”

Bathilda was unmoving in the center of the room, and she did not look up toward Harry until the fireplace flames had ignited. Hermione glanced nervously between Harry and Bathilda and gripped her wand more tightly.

“Mrs. Bagshot?” Harry asked again, his voice tight as he started to lose his patience. He dropped Hermione’s hand and stepped toward Bathilda and held up the photo for her to see. He felt Hermione shift uncomfortably behind him and he wondered if Bathilda was either deaf, senile or being forced into this situation. He decided to cut the crap and get to the point.

“Who is this person?” he demanded as he shook the picture in front of her.

Bathilda appeared solemnly but still did not respond.

“Do you know who this is?” Harry repeated much more slowly than normal this time. “This man? Do you know him? What’s he called?”

Hermione could see Harry becoming more frustrated with his questioning as Bathilda refused or was unable to respond. She was not sure why he was so fixated on the picture when they were here for the sword.

“Harry what are you doing?” she asked him out of the corner of her mouth as she nervously looked between the two of them again. “We’re here for the sword remember, what’s with the picture?”

“This picture Hermione – it’s the man I saw, the thief, the one who stole from Gregorovitch.” His eyes never left Bathilda as he spoke. “Please, Mrs. Bagshot, who is this man?”

“Mrs. Bagshot, you asked us to come with you – was there something you wanted to tell us?” Hermione asked as she slowly approach the old woman from behind Harry. She understood Harry’s urgency now – the man had been in a dream, well vision really, that Harry had seen from _you know who_. They needed answers and then they needed to leave – _now_. The longer they stayed in the house the more nervous she became and the more she figured this was a trap.

Bathilda however, ignored Hermione and her words completely. She started gesturing again at Harry and then toward the door to the hall. 

“Do you want us to leave?” Harry asked her.

Bathilda shook her head vigorously and them started to point again between herself and Harry and the hallway.

“Oh – I – Hermione – I think she wants us to go upstairs.” Harry said glancing toward Hermione quickly and back to Bathilda who nodded.

“Okay,” Hermione said slowly as she took Harry’s hand and they started to step toward the hall only to have Bathilda shake her head again and point meaningfully at Harry.

They stopped and looked at each other for a moment as the realization of what Bathilda was asking for sunk in.

“I think she wants only me to go upstairs,” Harry said stiffly.

They stared at each other in unspoken communication. Neither one of them liked this, something was _wrong_ and they knew it – they just didn’t know what. Possibly an ambush, possible a set-up, it was difficult to find the old women a threat but something was definitely not right. Perhaps her silence was out of fear, perhaps someone had threatened her, or hurt her and she was being forced to assist in fear for her own life. The house creaked eerily around them and the air seemed thick with darkness. Hermione looked down at Harry’s wand and then quickly back up to his eyes and nodded once firmly to Harry and he understood. They needed to get whatever information they could from Bathilda and then get the fuck out of there, his skin was crawling at the thought of staying in the house much longer.

“Okay,” Harry said slowly as he looked back to Bathilda. “I’ll come with you upstairs, and Hermione will stay down here and maybe see if she could make us some tea.”

Bathilda seemed to get the message and she turned to start walking toward the hallway. Harry and Hermione quickly side-stepped from the view of the hallway, Hermione cast a non-verbal _muffliato_ around them and then Harry cast his shield charm faster than she had ever seen him do it. The dark purple glow encased him quickly before disappearing from sight.

“Five minutes,” Harry said firmly as he grabbed her hand. “If something happens, we disapparate separately back to the cliff by the North Sea – I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay – but If you’re not down in five minutes, I’m coming to get you. I’ll cast my own shield charm as soon as you’re gone. I’ll see if I can find out what the fuck is going on down here – call me if something happens.”

Harry nodded firmly and squeezed her arm before turning to quickly rejoin Bathilda as Hermione cast her own shield charm before removing her silencing spell.

-x-x-

Harry followed Bathilda up the stairs, by the speed she was moving he was worried that his shield charm might run out before they even got to the top of the damn staircase, but he had set a quick timer with his wand as he approached the hallway so he could keep track. When they finally reached the top of the staircase he had 11 minutes left on his shield.

“You are Potter?” Bathilda whispered to him when they finally stood in a small low ceiling bedroom at the top of the stairs. The room was dark, and smelled disgusting – Harry couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose as he cast a _lumos_ to see. Everything about this situation was disturbing, the house felt like death and if not for the slightly twitching Horcrux he would have already left.

“Yes, I am.” He responded quickly, his eyes never leaving her form.

She nodded slowly, but made no motion to do anything else. _Oh for fuck’s sake_ , he thought as his temper started to flare once more. He did not want to be here, he did not want to be separated from Hermione and he did not understand why Bathilda would only speak to him – Dumbledore had left stuff for Hermione in his will too, so he doubted Dumbledore would have withheld any information from her. His only thought was that maybe Dumbledore had said something like ‘ _this is for Harry’_ and Bathilda was the one who interpreted it as a secret.

“Have you gotten anything?” he asked her with a tone of frustration. “Please Mrs. Bagshot – did Dumbledore leave you with anything to give me?”

Bathilda closed her eyes and Harry tensed as the Horcrux against his chest twitched so physically that his sweater moved and his scar prickled. The dark room wobbled in front of him as he felt a bizarre leap of joy course through his body and spoke in a cold high voice, _hold him!_

Harry swayed on his spot and steadied his footing. _What the fuck_?! He thought as he looked at Bathilda to see that she was watching him intently. _This needs to end now_.

“Have you got anything?” he asked more intently as his hand tightened on his wand.

“Over here,” she finally responded to him and pointed to the corner. Harry raised his wand to see a cluttered dressing table beneath a curtained window and moved slowly toward it, not taking his eyes off Bathilda as he went. He noted that she did not move to lead him this time. He checked in timer internally and noted that he now had just under 6 minutes left on his shield.

He reached the side of her bed and could make out what looked like a tangled laundry pile from his peripherals.

“What is it?” He asked impatiently as he kept his wand outstretched, not trusting to look away from her.

“There,” she said as she pointed to the shapeless mess.

 _Fuck,_ Harry swore inwardly and quickly darted his eyes to the pile, looking for a hint of the sword or literally fucking anything that would be useful and justify the risk they were taking. His stomach was in knots with nerves and the hairs on the back of his neck had started to stand up as the rank smell agitated his senses. The second he looked away from Bathilda he saw her move strangely from the corner of his eyes and he immediately returned his gaze towards her.

A wave of horror and panic washed over him as the body of Bathilda Bagshot seemed to melt and drop away to the ground like a suit and a great snake began to pour from the body’s neck. Harry opened his mouth and yelled without a second thought.

“HERMIONE GO!”

The words tore through his throat in a loud bellow as he non-verbally cast two stunners and a _diffindo_ in quick succession. The snake faltered only slightly from the impact and Harry rolled to the side quickly to dodge as its great tail took a swing at his mid-section. _Fuck!_ Harry thought as he rolled to his feet, _I have to watch both fucking ends?!_

He could hear Hermione barreling up the staircase as he went to strike the snake again – this time intending to cut it in half with _sectumsempra_ then apparate away when all of a sudden, his forehead felt like it was split open with a hammer. He faltered, nearly dropping his wand as his hand instinctively rose to his forehead, he couldn’t see, his vision was blurred as his heart started to race wildly out of control with joy. He was flying – flying without a broom or a Thestral and he felt mad with excitement. A hard hit to his chest jolted him out of the rush of emotions that were washing over him and he fell hard to the floor cracking his head as he landed. He meant to apparate away, but he simply couldn’t – his mind was not his own, it was clouded and messy and unfocused. The smell of death overwhelmed him and he gagged at the taste as his eyes searched blurrily around the dark room. Suddenly, it felt like a troll was seated on his chest and he raised his arms in front of his face protectively before he felt a sharp pressure on his arm. It was bearing down on him hard until he felt a sharp pain in his arm and a small crack.

“SECTUMSEMPRA!”

He heard Hermione bellow the words but he could not see her, she burst through the door loudly, powerful as a hurricane and struck the snake hard with _sectumsempra._ It dropped the arm it had been evidently holding in its mouth and Harry groaned as the arm fell to his side with a thump. Harry rolled to his right toward Hermione’s voice – his vision was coming back in waves as he cast two more non-verbal spells in the direction of the snake and Hermione did the same. Bright colours lit up the room as Hermione fired spell after spell, relentlessly hurtling her full artillery at the creature.

The snake was crashing and thrashing around the room, attacking and lunging wildly while trying to avoid both his and Hermione's spells. He could hear it hissing “ _NO! NO! I must hold you!”_ over and over as it attacked.

“HARRY!” he heard her call and he jerked his head as the snake lunged between them, he jumped back before throwing himself overtop of its coils to get to the same side of the room as Hermione, closer to the door and away from the window.

His head burst open in pain once more and he could not stop the scream which raged from his mouth.

“HERMIONE!” He called blindly, his hoarse voice desperate as he managed to focus his eyes to see three red spells cast in quick succession fly past his right side as the wall behind him exploded violently outward. “We have to go – NOW – HE’s COMING!”

He heard her footsteps, three of them, and could make out the shadow of her next to him followed by a very loudly shouted _Confringo!_ Then he saw and felt Voldemort in full force. He was livid and violent and reeking of death, he burst through the curtained window across the room from them – white hand outstretched, wand ready. Harry saw himself, through Voldemort’s eyes - a balding muggle, with his mousy wife grabbing the back of his neck with a look of fearless determination as they vanished from sight with a load pop. He screamed in rage, exploding the opposite side of Bathilda’s house as his anger flared and scorched the walls of the house with wordless magic. Harry’s mind was lost, lost in memories and visions and thoughts that weren’t his. It felt like his head had slipped below water, he was unable to come up for air – everything had gone dark as the images and memories assaulted him. He was screaming, writhing in pain and he saw his family – his parents. He saw them die, he was crying and shaking, and angry. He was Voldemort, he stood in the broken home of Bathilda and raged at the thought of Harry escaping his clutches – then he saw the photo on the ground, the thief – the man he had been looking for.

-x-x-

Hermione landed roughly in the Forest of Dean, Harry dropping with a soft thump into the snow beside her. She crouched next to him, hand still on his skin as she cast several quick detection spells and alarms spells in rapid succession which alerted of no threats in the area. _Homenum_ _revelio_ showed nothing either – they were completely alone, back to the quiet snow-covered forests and deserted locations that they were used to. They were safe for the moment. She grabbed Harry and rolled him over in the snow, he was twitching and muttering and moaning in agony but otherwise, he seemed okay. The snake had had Harry’s arm in its mouth as she entered the disgusting bedroom, but similar to the werewolf attack – there were no puncture wounds, just deep bruising. She cast a diagnostic on his arms quickly and saw the small fracture from the pressure of the creature’s bite. It ran along the length of his forearm – they would need to see if there was any way to strengthen the shield against physical blows and not just prevent punctures and curses. Broken bones are still a nuisance when in a battle, and the more protection they could have from their shield the better.

She quickly mended his arm before casting another diagnostic and checking over his entire form. The Horcrux was physically stuck to his chest, like it had melted into his skin. She had to use a severing charm to dislodge the cursed thing before throwing it around her own neck and using some dittany on his chest to try to prevent any scarring. As she had searched his body her heart fell – his wand was snapped in half, and she gathered the remains carefully and wrapped them in a small cloth she summoned from her bag. Once she was satisfied that he was okay – at least physically, she grabbed her bag and fetched the tent to set it up.

One hour later the tent was safely pitched, the alarms were set, the wards were placed, the enchantments made, and 6 detection spells were strategically cast around the grounds. She had levitated Harry into his bunk and she now sat by his head in a chair with a book. She shivered as she looked down at him and gently brushed some loose strands of black hair from his eyes, he was still for the moment at least. She had seen Harry like this before in the past, and she knew immediately when she saw the way he had looked on the floor of Bathilda’s house – _you know who_ had been in his head. Harry was almost incapacitated by the connection and was clearly in excruciating pain. She stared at him sadly as a single tear dropped from her eye and she took his hand in hers, abandoning the book in her lap.

She worried for Harry, she worried about the connection that he shared with _you know who_ – not only because of the implications and what it might mean, but also because it put him at risk. The connection had made him almost defenceless against Nagini’s attack. If she wasn’t so sure that the snake was not actually trying to kill him and was instead trying to hold him for _you know who,_ he might actually have died.

She shuddered as she thought back to the sight of Voldemort crashing through the window and looking at them with such hatred and rage. His blood-red eyes had bore into her, his anger was like a physical presence in the room that made her sick to her stomach. She couldn't understand how anyone could be in his presence. She had apparated them quicker than she had ever done so in her life. She knew that Harry would be okay, she knew that he would come to on his own and she would be there for him when he did. She knew that she needed to research ways to better their shielding charm and better prepare them still. This run-in with Nagini and Voldemort had chilled her to her very core, she felt like she had tasted death as he stood before her – he was rank with it, it pooled off of him in waves. The power he emanated was fearful and limitless, it was choking to stand near and made her doubt the hope she had that they would prevail.

But as her mind raced, she could not look away from Harry. She could not stop stroking his hair, fidgeting with his blankets to make sure he was properly tucked in, holding his hand and checking his forehead for a temperature to make sure he was okay. She stared at him for what felt like hours as her hope flittered, her stomach tightened, and her heart felt like it was breaking and healing and breaking all over again. They had once again, in just a few short months, _almost died_. They had once again almost lost everything. She had once again almost lost Harry – and the acknowledgment of her feelings for him or not, had had absolutely no fucking impact on how she felt. She felt the same. She felt the dread, the fear and worry, the panic and agony over what had happened regardless of whatever label she slapped on their relationship. She felt the terror just the same – she knew that her feelings for Harry were set and refusing to acknowledge them made no fucking difference.

Harry was right. _This_ was it. Harry was worth fighting for. _They_ were worth fighting for, and it would not make her weaker to acknowledge it.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Godric's Hollow discussions, H&HR read and discuss Skeeter's book, and Hermione has a change of heart on their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Well… it is now September… how the actual F did that happen?!  
> 2\. I hope that you enjoy Chapter 14! I’ve been having trouble keeping my chapters around 5-7k words and have been finding myself hitting 10-12k. So, I ended up splitting this one again - so I apologize for the abrupt break in story. The next chapter will be loaded tomorrow. Do you guys prefer longer chapters or shorter ones? Do you have any preference? (update: I've decided to go longer as needed)  
> 3\. Based on what I have left to write, and what story I want to tell I think there will probably anywhere from 15-20 more chapters, I might be able to do it in less… we shall see! (update: this estimation was completing wrong :P )  
> 4\. Comments and feedback are always appreciated :)
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Updates on Sunday +/- a few days.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open as the small noises from Harry began to get louder – she must have dozed off at some point while sitting beside him. The book she had been holding fell from her lap to the floor as she reached out to grab Harry’s hand, He was twitching in his bed muttering _‘No’_ over and over.

“Harry,” she said gently as she took his hand and stroked the hair from his damp face.

“No – No I dropped it” He muttered as he began to stir more aggressively. “I dropped it!”

“Harry, it’s okay – we’re safe,” Hermione whispered to him as she held his hand firmly. “Harry it’s alright – you’re alright.”

Harry’s eyes flashed open and he stared around the tent in confusion as he twisted away from her touch until his eyes locked onto hers and she could visibly see the tension fall from his face.

“Hermione,” he said. His voice was so hoarse from his earlier screaming it sounded terrible and it was likely painful for him to speak.

“Hey,” her voice was quiet and gentle and a smile pulled at her lips as she looked at him. Cautiously she reached out to brush his hair from his face and then knelt down next to his bed, bringing them closer to eye level. “We’re safe Harry.”

“We got away?” His eyes never left her face as he spoke, and she could feel his hand grasping hers in return now.

“Yes,” she replied steadily as she held his gaze. “I managed to apparate us away. Harry, are you feeling okay?”

Harry frowned at her question, not at Hermione, but at the words that he did not know how to answer.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly as he averted his eyes to the ceiling before taking a breath and forcing himself to look at her again. “How am I supposed to even answer that.”

His voice broke slightly as he spoke, no doubt from the hoarseness of his throat. His words weren’t a question, just a statement as he sat in his sweat-soaked sheets and as his damp hair lingered around his exhausted face.

“I was almost useless Hermione,” he said quietly. The frustration and pain were visible in his eyes now. “I know he was in my head and I couldn’t do anything about it. I wouldn’t have been able to get out of there without you. I – I saw things too, when he was in my head. I saw my parents die – the whole scene this time – not just the screaming.”

Hermione gripped his hand tightly as Harry quieted. Her eyes searching his face. _Shit,_ she thought to herself in frustration – _how am I supposed to comfort him? He just watched his family die in front of him – we need to talk about finding a way to practice occlumency again – but obviously now’s not the time._ She decided to wait on bringing up occlumency – as she did not want to come across as scolding him, and instead settled on moving closer to him and resting her elbow on the edge of his bed to prop up her head.

“Harry, I’m sorry.” She spoke sincerely as she searched his face. Her heart was twisting into a painful ball as she examined his exhaustion and sadness. _Why is it,_ she thought, _that Harry always has to suffer so much._

“It’s fine,” Harry said as he cleared his throat and closed his eyes briefly. “It sounds weird – perhaps a bit disturbing – but I’m glad I got to see them. I’m glad I got to see _it_ – I think it’s better to know.”

He paused briefly as Hermione nodded her head in understanding before his eyes brightened and he began speaking with more urgency.

“ _You know who_ wanted that picture – the one of the thief, he was excited about finding it, he’s been looking for him, but I don’t know why – I wasn’t able to tell from what I saw. He was absolutely fucking livid that we got away – and Bathilda wasn’t Bathilda,” his brow furrowed a fraction now as he recalled the events of the cottage. “It was Nagini, somehow she was inside her body – I – I don’t know if Bathilda is dead or if they somehow made a copy of her, but Nagini poured out of Bathilda’s neck the second I took my eyes off her. Bathilda’s body just crumpled to the ground – it was like she was wearing a Bathilda suit – I – I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“She was dead,” Hermione grimaced as she spoke. She had been planning to wait to tell Harry until later, but it seemed like now was as good of a time as any. “I was looking around the main floor after I cast my shield charm – I went to the kitchens and everything there was spoiled. Bathilda must have been dead for some time for things to be that rancid. The smell was worse by the pantry door so – so – so I opened it.”

Hermione stuttered on her words and clutched Harry’s hand tightly before she continued. The image of what she had seen in that pantry was going to haunt her dreams forever and she knew it. It was etched into the back of her mind and made her shuddered as she recalled it.

“Bathilda’s – well, her – her innards were stuffed in the pantry, Harry. It was like someone had skinned her, and her carcass was just left there – but it had gone rotten – there were flies everywhere – there had been a spell cast on the door a while ago to keep things at bay, but it was poorly done and I think it was starting to weaken and that’s why the house rank so badly.”

She forced the rest of the words out her mouth quickly as images of Bathilda’s rotting flesh floated up to her vision. The flies, the flies had been everywhere – there had been maggots too, crawling out of her red and black rotted flesh. The worst part had been that her face was still visible – or what was left of it. The empty eye sockets and remains of her mouth and nose. Hermione’s stomach rolled over as she clenched her jaw, willing herself not to throw up. She’d become acquainted with death over the last few years – and specifically the last few months – but not like this. _Never_ like this. _This_ was a different level of sadistic, disturbing, heartless action that _you know who_ and his followers had taken.

“Hermione, I’m sorry,” Harry said gruffly as he forced himself to sit up in bed against his pillows and he pulled her up from her knees and into his chest.

She sat on the edge of his bunk and laid her head on his chest as he held her. His sweater was damp on her face from his sweat, but she didn’t care – she felt dirtied by the images in her mind anyways and she knew that she would be scrubbing herself viciously in the shower later to try and rid herself of the rank smell and disturbing scene. She took a few deep breaths and tried to rid her mind of the images of Bathilda’s rotting skinless body from her mind. She wasn’t crying, her eyes were not even remotely wet – but they had been widening in disbelief and slight shock as she had been recalling what she found to Harry. She closed her eyes tightly now, and clutched Harry’s sweater with her hand. _Fuck,_ she thought as she continued to empty her mind and clear her thoughts. _This is what ‘you know who’ and his followers are willing to do. Skin an old woman and leave her corpse in her own pantry_. Hermione had little doubt that the old woman was probably alive when it happened, and this made her stomach lurch once more. _How do we fight those willing to do this – willing to commit such horrendous and despicable acts_. She turned her face further into his sweater as she felt a feeling of detachment wash over her. This was another thing she would need to deal with later, on her own time. For now, though, she needed to stay focused and be there for Harry. 

“How long was I out?” Harry asked gently when her breathing had evened out, in hopes of trying to bring the conversation around to something slightly less terrible – which seemed a daunting task given the situation they had been in only moments ago.

Hours,” Hermione spoke softly before she pulled herself from his chest to sit back and look at him. Her hand remained on his chest though, tightly gripping his sweater between her fingers as if she was worried he would slip away from her grasp. “It’s early morning now.”

Harry nodded to her as his eyes searched over her face, looking for traces of the disturbed and shocked expression she had had a moment ago when she recounted finding Bathilda. But Hermione looked more in control now – she’d obviously packaged those feelings up and pushed them to the side.

“The Horcrux was stuck to you, I had to use a severing charm to get it off of you.” She spoke quietly as she finally released his sweater and pointed to the spot on his chest where the Horcrux had been. “I used some dittany so hopefully it doesn’t scar – but there could still be a mark there after it heals. Dark magic is different – like the werewolf scars, so it may not work.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” Harry said gently as he reached up to grab the hand that hovered above his chest and then held it tightly in his lap. He didn’t even bother looking at the place where Hermione had pointed – he knew that she would have done everything that she could have to fix the burn, whatever remained was going to be what it was going to be.

“Your arm was broken from Nagini – I healed it – and thankfully her bite didn’t pierce your skin. I figure we should probably look into a way to improve the physical integrity of the shield charm to protect better against physical attacks.” She then looked away from Harry and started to fiddle with the hem of her sweater with her free hand nervously.

“What is it?” Harry asked her as he sat up straighter. He _knew_ her antics, and he _knew_ that she was holding something back from him. “What happened, Hermione?”

“Your wand Harry,” she spoke so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her.

Harry’s face went blank, and Hermione could see the tension in his jaw as she glanced back up at him. Her expression was pained as the next words fell from his lips.

“What of my wand?”

“It was broken in the attack, Harry – I’m so sorry – I tried to repair it, I’ve got all the pieces, but I wasn’t able to do it. I think it might have been me – when I cast that blasting charm and it destroyed the house – I must have hit it. Harry, I’m so sorry!” She looked at him desperately and winced as his brow furrowed and he shut his eyes. She could hear his sharp intake of breath as he processed the information and she felt her heart sink with guilt. She could not even imagine losing her wand – what it must feel like to find out you’ve lost your connection to magic, your ability to cast spells. Her chest was tight with anxiety, she knew it was very likely her fault that Harry was now wandless, and it was killing her. She clenched her jaw nervously and squeezed his hand until he opened his eyes again – they were clear and calm.

“It’s okay,” he said firmly as he looked at her directly. There was not a single trace of anger or blame in his face.

“Harry, I-“ but Harry cut her off before she could even finish her sentence.

“You don’t know for sure if you broke it Hermione,” he said calmly as he squeezed her hand in return. “Nagini could have hit it, I could have fallen on it – I couldn’t see what was going on. Either way it doesn’t matter, it was an accident and we’ll deal with it. Thank you though – for trying to fix it and keeping the pieces.”

Hermione nodded solemnly and kept her jaw clenched. She would feel guilty regardless of whether or not Harry blamed her.

“We’ll just have to share your wand until we come up with something.”

“I’m sorry Harry,” she said softly as her eyes glazed over.

“I know,” Harry said as he pushed himself off his pillows and leaned toward her. “I am too - but it’s okay Hermione – I promise, it’s fine – we’ll figure it out.”

Hermione’s lips twitched at his words and a faint blush crept over her face as he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the temple.

“I’m going to go shower though,” he said with a small laugh. “I’m thoroughly disgusting.”

Hermione stood and helped Harry from the bed then she watched as he walked toward the bathroom with clean clothes in hand. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she watched him go. This evening had been another that was simply too much – it was all _too_ _much_ , and it was starting to make her wonder if she would be able to take it. Once she heard the shower turn on, she sat back down on his bunk and dropped her head into her hands and allowed silent tears to fall from her eyes as she listened to the water run. She wasn’t even sure what it was she was crying about – whether it was for Bathilda, the realization that _you know who_ and his followers were capable of actions far worse than she thought, that they had almost died yet again, that Harry had been so quick to forgive her for possibly breaking his wand, that she worried that he might _actually_ be upset with her for it and not tell her, that her heart still ached at the thought of losing him, or if it was just the compounded stress of everything and the lingering effects of no sleep. _It’s probably for everything_ , she thought as the tears streamed soundlessly from her eyes.

After five minutes she firmed her face and wiped the tears from her eyes on her sleeve, then forced herself up from the bed to go and make breakfast. Her heart felt lighter, like she had allowed herself to empty her body of the emotions and turmoil that constantly seemed to fill it and she refocused her mind to the task at hand. She still needed to show Harry the book she had snagged from Bathilda’s house before Nagini revealed herself.

Harry exited the bathroom just moments after she had everything prepared and set on the table, they sat and ate porridge, berries and tea. He rested his knees gently against hers under the table and she smiled at him as he talked about how he figured out how to modify their duelling and exercises now that they only had one wand while he was in the shower. He smiled at her as he dropped more berries on his plate and nudged her knee gently with his own before taking a sip of tea. Her heart raced at the contact and she felt herself smile more genuinely. _Yes,_ she thought peacefully as she watched him eat with purpose and continue to talk about his new plans, _this is worth fighting for, and we are going to be just fine_.

After breakfast Hermione pulled the copy of _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ out from her purse and showed it to Harry. She explained that she had taken it from the living room of Bathilda’s house after Harry had gone upstairs. The book had a note from Rita Skeeter in it, her familiar acid green spikey writing leaving them both with annoyed scowls on their face. Rita was such a bitch. The book had clearly never been opened before, as evident by its stiff spine.

They had abandoned their seats at the kitchen table to go and sit on the transfigured love seat to look through the book together. They were both caught by surprise when they realized that the man from Harry’s vision and in the photo from Bathilda’s house was Gellert Grindelwald. They worked their way through the book, learning that Dumbledore had left Hogwarts in a blaze of glory, how he had returned to Godric’s Hollow to care for his sister and brother after his mother’s death, that Dumbledore’s sister was apparently frail and ill but possibly a squib being kept locked up, and that Grindelwald was Bathilda’s great-nephew. The book contained a rather shocking letter allegedly from Dumbledore to Grindelwald and then recounted how after two months of friendship Dumbledore and Grindelwald parted ways until they met again for their legendary duel. Rita had noted that their falling out may have been due to Dumbledore’s sister’s death, and they also learned that Aberforth and Dumbledore fought at the funeral.

When they finally finished reading the book it was well past noon and Harry had a deep scowl that ran across his face. Hermione’s chest tightened nervously – this was a lot to ask Harry to take. He had held Dumbledore in the highest esteem and now this book was burning every opinion that he had of him. It had been difficult to read, difficult to swallow and painted Dumbledore in a light that made even Hermione’s brow crease similar to Harry’s.

“Harry,” she said cautiously, as she gauged the expression on his face. “I know that the book isn’t pleasant – but you have to remember that this is Rita Skeeter’s writing.”

“Yeah,” Harry said in a clipped tone. “Except that we both read that letter _from Dumbledore_ to Grindelwald. That’s hardly Rita’s writing.”

“I know,” Hermione spoke softly as she tried to chose her next words carefully. She could tell that Harry’s confidence in Dumbledore had been shaken by what they read – she’d be lying if she said that her own wasn’t. “I know Bathilda thought that it was all just talk but ‘ _For the Greater Good_ ’ became Grindelwald’s slogan – it was his justification. It was carved at the top of Nurmengard.”

“What’s Nurmengard?” Harry asked, his eyes still glued to the book in front of them.

“It was the prison that Grindelwald created to house his enemies – to imprison those who stood opposed to him.” She watched the side of his face as he spoke. “Dumbledore imprisoned Grindelwald there himself once he defeated him. I know that this looks bad Harry, but it seems like they only knew each other for a short while – It’s awful that Dumbledore’s ideas may have helped Grindelwald rise to power but-“

“But what?” Harry asked her tightly. He didn’t yell and he wasn’t angry, instead he just looked blank and lost, and somehow that was worse. She knew that it wasn’t directed at her, but her chest tightened just the same.

“But they were young Harry,” she started softly before he cut her off again.

“So are we,” his voice was eerily light as he spoke, and she knew that this was cutting him deeper than he would ever say. “We’re young – we’re the same age and we’re fighting _against_ the dark arts.”

“I know,” Hermione took a breath to steady her voice as Harry looked up at her. His eyes held a sadness that made her heart ache. “His mother had just died, he was alone-“

“He wasn’t alone, he had his sister and brother,” Harry cut in again. “We’ve lost people too Hermione.”

“Harry, I’m not trying to defend Dumbledore’s actions,” she couldn’t stop her voice from rising as she grabbed the book, closed it firmly and tossed it on the footstool next to them. “I wasn’t there – I can’t say what was going through his head at the time he befriended Grindelwald. I don’t know if he meant to help or just helped inadvertently – I’m just saying that there is more to the story than what was written by Rita Skeeter in that _stupid_ book. You know as well as I do how she twists words and facts and only uses the information that paints the picture she wants. Maybe – maybe Dumbledore fucked up, maybe he made a mistake – maybe it took losing his sister to realize that he’d been an ass. I don’t know Harry, because I wasn’t there. I just don’t think we should jump to any conclusions from a book written by that _bitch_.”

Harry was sitting quietly staring at her with slightly widened eyes as she continued to rant, and her voice grew louder.

“I know how much you respected him Harry – I can’t even begin to wrap my head around how hard it must be for you to read this – to find out that he may not have been who you thought he was. But Harry he cared for you, he loved you, he spent every year that we had known him fighting against _you know who_ and believing that muggles and muggle-borns are worthy. People make mistakes Harry, people change. Maybe he was someone different when he was young – but we know who he was at the end, what he fought for, what he believed in – and isn’t that what matters?”

Harry sighed and dropped his head into his hands for a moment before lifting it and running his fingers through his dishevelled black hair.

“Yes,” he groaned out in a pained frustration. “But if I ever get the chance to speak to his portrait, I’m going to ask him – and he better give me some fucking answers. Every day that goes by I feel more and more like I didn’t _know_ him. That he didn’t actually prepare me – that he kept things from me and intentionally withheld details that you know, might have been helpful to know.”

“Yeah,” Hermione snorted gently in agreement. “Yes, you’re right. He certainly had a way of being secretive when it would have been much more helpful to just tell us what the fuck was going on.”

Harry sighed again and forced himself up from the couch to start walking toward the kitchen.

“Do you want some lunch?” he asked over his shoulder as he reached for Hermione’s beaded bag on the table. “My body feels dead and I think we should split that last butterbeer.”

Hermione grinned at Harry and got up to join him in the kitchen. They ate a small lunch and passed the last remaining bottle of butterbeer between the two of them. After eating Hermione then showered quickly, scrubbing herself thoroughly to remove any lingering smell of Bathilda’s house from her body. She felt thoroughly disgusting from having sat so long in her clothes from the evening before and was glad that they spent the remainder of the night curled on the couch reading. The day had been exhausting and she could see that Harry was just as mentally taxed as she was from reading the book Rita had printed. They skipped dinner and opted for a light snack before they both went to bed. Feeling safe with the alarms that Hermione had set they decided that for tonight no watch would be required – they both needed rest after the events at Bathilda’s and they knew it.

As Hermione walked to her bunk after washing her face in the bathroom, she saw Harry sitting at the edge of his bunk with his head in his hands. He raised his head as she approached and watched her as she placed her dirtied clothes into their small laundry basket and began to dim the lights in the tent. Wordlessly he rose from his bunk and walked toward her. Hermione had just turned down the blankets on her bed as he closed the distance between them, and she turned to ask him what he wanted – but he had circled his arms around her before she even had time to open her mouth.

He kissed her slowly, with care, and pulled her close to his body. It wasn’t heated or desperate, and she understood his meaning. She leaned into him and let his tongue enter her mouth as she gripped his sweater tightly. Harry needed her – she had become his one and only constant in this war. He had lost so much: the close support of the Order, Ron, his wand, his faith in Dumbledore. She ran her hand up his chest to rest at the base of his neck before he pulled away slightly. He rested his forehead against hers, eyes still closed, and his words came out as a whisper.

“Stay with me tonight?”

His words ghosted across her face and she could not help but shiver as her heart fluttered at his words. She knew that Harry was hurting right now, and it brought a warmth to her heart that she could not explain that he wanted her near. She nodded against his forehead and allowed his hands to lead her to his bunk. They both crawled in, Harry nearest the tent wall and Hermione nearest the edge of the bunk as they usually were when they shared the bunk. Harry wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly to his chest, nuzzling his nose into her neck as she closed her eyes and snuggled back into him. It crossed her mind fleetingly that it was now Christmas day and she was snuggled with Harry in his bed. She smiled softly as she nuzzled her head into his pillow.

“Happy Christmas Harry,” she said softly as she wriggled her foot gently against his own.

“Happy Christmas Hermione,” Harry breathed against her neck as he squeezed her tightly in his arms.

-x-x-

The next morning, they ate a quick breakfast and dressed warmly before they went to start their modified training outside. Hermione was thankful that they began their training right away before her mind lingered too long on the warmth of sleeping in Harry’s strong arms, his breath against her neck and the way that his touch made her heart flutter. Harry’s modifications to their training routine included taking turns with the wand – the person who had it would fire leg lockers and stunners at the person without a wand while the person without the wand would dodge, duck and run to avoid being hit. They switched every 10 minutes and Hermione had to agree that completing this exercise was worth it, she was glad that they did not decide to forgo training now that Harry was without a wand. The exercise made you much more resourceful at evading spells, she started to realize how often she would allow herself to be potentially hit because she knew she could shield or deflect an oncoming spell. Without a wand she was far more in tune with her movements, positioning and her surroundings as she knew she needed to _actually_ evade spells and not just block them.

They practiced this way for the better part of 2 hours before they both slumped down by the tent to take a breather and drink some water before they started on the next part of their modified training. This involved them each taking turns using Hermione’s wand to blast more dangerous spells at some unsuspecting dead tree trunks. They then worked to improve their non-verbals and even tried to cast _sectumsempra_ without words. Harry was able to get a single small scratch in one trunk while Hermione was able to get two. Then, Hermione put her wand away and they worked on wandless magic for over an hour. Hermione had been able to lift a leaf off the ground with a wordless and wandless _wingardium leviosa_ while Harry had been able to conjure a tiny small blue flame.

Hermione had no illusions that they would _magically_ be able to cast defensive spells wordlessly or wandlessly on their first day – she laughed internally at her own pun. But she _was_ pleasantly surprised that she had been able to make the leaf hover for several seconds before it dropped back to the ground, and that Harry had managed to light a small blue flame – even if it did sputter out after only a moment. This exercise would take time and patience and discipline, but they both agreed that it was worth it and that they would continue to practice it even if they did find Harry a new wand somehow.

After their experimentation with wandless and wordless magic they had a quick lunch before moving on to their physical exercises. Hermione found it a bit difficult to keep her eyes off Harry as he completed push-up after push-up or as they jogged in several large circles around the tent. Over the past few months of completing their exercise routine Harry had really started to fill out. His frame was no longer lanky or scrawny like it had been for years – his broad shoulders were filled with new muscle, his arms and legs strong and he had a healthy bulk to him. He wasn’t rippling in muscles and he hadn’t transformed into some incredible and unbelievable version of himself – but he was fit, strong, and held himself with more comfort than he had as a kid. Harry had become comfortable in his own body, filled out the lanky long bones and now moved with a determination and purpose that he had lacked before. The transformation that _had_ occurred was that Harry had changed from an insecure, lanky and unsure boy into a _man_ who moved confidently in his own body. And Hermione found it more distracting than she cared to admit.

It wasn’t just the physical changes in Harry that she found her mind drifting to as they laid on the floor of the tent completing sit-ups as a pair – Harry’s feet were resting over hers as they alternated their crunches toward each other. It was the maturity that he now carried in the way he spoke and the way he thought. She always knew that Harry wasn’t stupid, he was clever and intuitive, but he had always been a bit hot-headed when he was younger. Now he embraced his mature side and had started to use his critical thinking skills and exercise it and build on it like it was a tool – using it to his own advantage. She could practically hear the gears turning in his head when she caught him in thought or watched him before he spoke. That was the other main difference between him and the ‘ _Harry from four months ago’_ – he thought before he spoke. 

As Hermione showered after dinner, washing off the sweat and grime from their exercises she still could not remove her thoughts from Harry. She knew she cared for him. She knew that however she chose to define, or not define, whatever was happening between them made no difference. Losing him would kill her just the same – and she could not escape the conclusion that she had drawn the night before while Harry had laid motionless in his bunk. Being together, accepting her feelings, accepting her fear of losing Harry – while terrifying – was worth fighting for. Harry had been right, it wouldn’t make her weaker. If anything, it would make her stronger. As she ran her hands through her dark wet curls she knew that allowing herself to be with Harry would realistically motivate her to work harder, become stronger – it was exactly as Harry had said to her. He made her want to be better, to be more – just as much as she made him want to grow as well.

She stepped out of the shower and looked into the full-length mirror. It had been a while since she forced herself to stare at her scars and list the things that she was grateful for when saw her reflection. It had been a while since she had to force herself to smile at her marred skin. It had also been a while since she had _really_ looked at her reflection, she was no longer ‘ _Hermione from four months ago’_. She traced her fingers over the scars that covered her chest gently as she examined her body – the scars were not the only thing that had changed. Like Harry, she had not undergone some miraculous bodily change, she didn’t become some voluptuous woman with shapely curves. Instead, she stood taller, straighter, and with more dignity than she ever remembered having. Her confidence was much more apparent in her stance.

She did have some curve to her waist, nothing extreme, but the presence of female hips was there. Her breasts had gotten somewhat larger, although still nothing to write home about at a modest B cup – she figured she would always be on the smaller side based on her own mother’s appearance – but frankly their diet, lifestyle and intense physical exercise routines did not lend to having huge tits. She snorted at this as she looked over her legs and arms. This was where the largest physical change was. Hermione had always been petite and scrawny herself – she had never been an active person and always preferred to stick with her books than run around outside with her peers. She’d never played sports either. Now though, since she was exercising intently with Harry and completing their duelling, she had real visible muscles. She looked fit, strong and capable. She found herself smiling as she pulled her loose-fitting charcoal grey long-sleeved shirt on and her faded denims. The shirt’s collar hung so that her top scar was plainly visible, but she didn’t even blink at it as her mind wandered back to Harry.

She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him how she felt, that she wanted him, that she wasn’t afraid – even though she absolutely was – that she wanted to be with him. That he was right, that _they_ were worth fighting for. She gripped the bottom hem of her sweater tightly between her fingers. Running the fabric between her thumb and index finger as she always did when she was nervous. She looked down at her dark purple fuzzy socks before tilting her head back up toward the ceiling. She wanted to give Harry what he wanted, not any unrealistic promises that could not be kept, but a relationship that was acknowledged and openly admitted – because she wanted it too, that she wanted _more_ with him both physically and emotionally.

Taking a breath, she opened the bathroom door and strolled out to the kitchen, her hand still firmly gripping the fabric of her shirt. Harry was standing by the kitchen counter, having just finished cleaning up the kitchen since she had made dinner tonight. He smiled at her as she approached, and she found herself blushing lightly as her heart started to race...

(to be continued)


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion about their relationship... and what follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I hope that you enjoy Chapter 15! (second half of yesterday’s)  
> 2\. Let’s call this what it is – this chapter ain’t nothin but a big ol’ lemon... nothing but smut because I wanted to progress their relationship.  
> 3\. May not be a Wednesday post this week… I have some stuffs I have to get done – but I’ll do my best!  
> 4\. Comments and feedback are always appreciated :) And as always, thank you for reading! love you! Each and every one of you magical, fantastical, wonderful humans <3
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Updates on Sunday +/- a few days.

**Warnings:**

This chapter contains: explicit smut (which can be skipped without missing out on main plot)

******************************************

_How should I start this?_ Hermione pondered as she closed the space between them, noting that Harry stayed in the kitchen and leaned up against the counter. His eyes had darted from her now blushed face to her hand which was gripping the hem of her shirt, then back up to her face. She couldn’t help but smile inwardly at the fact that Harry had not even glanced at her visible scars. His one eyebrow was ever so slightly raised, and she began chastising herself for her outward physical tells. _I would be a right shit poker player,_ she thought as she stopped just shy of the kitchen and leaned on the single center tent post in front of Harry. He clearly knew that something was on her mind, but he remained silent and waited for her to speak first.

“Hey,” she said somewhat shyly as she looked at him and instinctively crossed her arms over her chest to make herself feel more comfortable. They had taken dinner a bit late that evening and the tent were already dim from the darkness outside.

“Hey,” he said quietly, a small smile on his lips as he looked at her.

Her stomach flopped over again. _Fuck,_ she thought as she looked at him. Her mind was racing, and she wished that she knew what he was thinking. The way that he looked at her – the slight smile he had, the way his eyes heated and danced in the little remaining light as he stared at her, and his relaxed posture as he leaned comfortably against the kitchen counter made her insides squirm in anticipation.

“Harry,” she spoke softly as she felt the blush on her cheeks deepen.

“Hermione,” he said slowly as he studied her face with a slight amount of amusement.

“I was thinking,” she managed to get out, before she found that she lost her confidence to speak further.

“Don’t you always?” he teased lightly as he leaned back further into the counter and grinned widely when she scowled at him.

“Yes, well – I suppose that’s true,” she rolled her eyes, knowing that Harry was just teasing and trying to lighten the mood. He had clearly picked up on the fact that she was nervous to say what she wanted to say. Again – due to her ridiculously poor poker face. “I – um, I think you were right.”

“Really?” Harry said with a small amount of genuine surprise. His eyebrow had quirked up before his brow furrowed ever so slightly. “About what exactly?”

Hermione swallowed, her hands had started to shake, she dropped one of the arms that crossed her chest lower down to lay across her stomach so that she could grip the bottom hem of her soft shirt again. Her heart was pounding in her ears as Harry looked at her in anticipation and slight confusion. He had no idea of the war that was currently being waged inside her – how her heart was beating irradicably, how her stomach was fluttering wildly as she tried to get the courage to tell him exactly what he had been right about.

“About us,” the words left her lips so quietly that she was not sure that Harry heard them until she saw his shoulders stiffen. She stared at him and waited, waited for him to speak – but he didn’t, he just slowly pushed himself from the kitchen counter and began to close the distance between them.

Hermione pushed her back further into the tent pole as Harry approached and gripped herself more tightly. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous to have him move closer to her, he had been close to her before – _much_ closer. But somehow this felt like it was the first time, it was the first time that it was real between them – it was the first time that she was openly admitting to herself that she cared for him, wanted him, would be with him and planned to outright acknowledge it going forward.

“How do you mean, Hermione?” Harry spoke softly. He had stopped moving just in front of her and he was now standing only a foot away, though he kept his hands at his sides and refrained from touching her. Hermione was still gripping her own body with her hands nervously as Harry stood quietly in front of her waiting for a response. His head was tilted to the side, his eyes curious and filled with emotion.

“I um,” Hermione cleared her throat and looked down at his chest before forcing herself to look back into his eyes. _Courage Hermione¸_ she thought as she forced her back to straighten against the pole and her hands to calm. This was it, this was what she wanted – she knew that she did, now she just had to have the courage to follow through and tell him. This was a moment that she would never forget, the moment that she decided to make things _real_ between them.

“That it makes us stronger,” she said at last. “Being together – it, it would make us stronger. You were right, Harry, I – I was afraid to acknowledge my feelings, to make this real – because I am absolutely terrified of losing you. I – I don’t know what I would do without you Harry – I – I want to be with you. I don’t want to hide from this, I don’t want to pretend that _this_ isn’t a _thing_.”

She stared at him determinedly, she had dropped her hands from their comforting position across her chest and they now rested at her sides clenching the hem of the sleeves of her sweater firmly. Harry was staring at her intensely, his eyes bright as they looked at her.

“Hermione,” he said softly. “You don’t have to do this, I said I was fine with what we had I don’t want you to-“

“I’m not just saying this Harry,” she cut him off with a hard look of determination in her eyes. She could feel the fear and anticipation that had been coursing through her body fade away. “After Godric’s Hollow… it – it’s like the _third_ _fucking_ _time_ we have almost died since the end of summer and what I’ve realized is that I am going to be devastated – I am going to hurt whether I outwardly acknowledge my feelings for you or not. Harry, I – I care for you, I – I want to be with you, I want to see where this goes. I’m terrified of losing you, I’m terrified to screw this up, to ruin what we have or to get distracted from our mission – all of the things that I told you before I’m still absolutely petrified of. But you were right, war or not – this, _we_ are worth fighting for, and it is only going to make me stronger. _We_ will be stronger together, you – you were right Harry. I want this.”

Harry hesitated a moment, his eyes flooding with emotion before he stepped forward and pulled her into a heated kiss. His hands had planted themselves firmly on her hips and he pushed her back into the tent pole, pushing his body into hers. She latched her arms around his back, gripping his thin shirt tightly as she pulled him in closer. His mouth moved quickly against hers, as if searching her for any doubts, as if in disbelief of what she had said before he pulled away quickly gasping for breath. Hermione’s lips trembled at the loss of contact and she looked up at him in confusion.

“You’re sure Hermione?” he breathed out against her lips as he looked at her intensely.

“Yes you stupid wizard,” she breathed before she latched her lips firmly to his and pulled his body back close to hers.

Her heart was thudding so loudly in her chest she was positive Harry could hear it. His hands were everywhere – on her sides, her chest, around her back, then tangled in her hair as they kissed like their lives depended on it. She moaned into his mouth as he sucked on her bottom lip and he groaned as she pushed her hips into him. Her back was plastered against the tent pole now and Harry angled her head upward so he could kiss her more deeply. His hand on her neck made her shiver against him. It was like they had fallen apart at the seams and all of their pent-up frustrations and want had been released all at once – Harry’s hesitation was gone and he allowed himself to touch Hermione freely and Hermione found her own hands weaving under the hem of his shirt.

He parted her legs with his thigh, pressing tightly against her core and she groaned out at the pressure against her clit. _Fuck_ , she groaned inwardly as she panted for breath and Harry began kissing down her neck. She ran her fingers along his sides and his chest, his skin was hot, and his body was hard. The air in the tent felt thick and the temperature had risen to the point that she worried she might start to sweat. She wanted him, she wanted _all_ of him. It wasn’t just because of the heat of the moment, and it wasn’t just a split-second realization. She had known for a while that she craved his touch, she wanted to feel him against her, she wanted him to be her _first_.

The thought had crossed her mind over the past few weeks but she had dismissed it as a distracting and stupid idea – thinking that there was no time for such things while in the middle of a war. But now when she thought about it her original opinion seemed stupid and childish. They were in the middle of nowhere and threatened by death at every turn. There was a very real possibility that she would not survive this at all and that she would never have the opportunity to experience sex, or any other aspects of an intimate relationship. So, it seemed utterly ridiculous to hold out for a future that may never happen – for an opportunity that may never come. It was like suddenly Harry’s words and Bill and Fleur’s wedding took on a whole new meaning for Hermione. There was a difference between being _irresponsible_ in the face of war and _living_ in the face of war and refusing to allow the war to control your life. Allowing yourself relationships, friendships, closeness, joy and physical contact did not make you weak. It gave you motivation, it gave you a reason to continue on even when things seemed at their darkest.

Hermione tugged at Harry’s shirt, pushing it up his chest as he continued to nibble at her neck. Seeming to understand her intent Harry grabbed the hem of his shirt and quickly pulled it over his head before placing one hand back on her side as the other came up to rest on the side of her face where he stroked her cheek with the soft pad of his thumb. They were both flushed from their kiss and the heat between them and Hermione felt nervous as she looked down Harry’s chest. She had seen him shirtless before – but not like this, not in this way. He wasn’t sporting a ridiculous six-pack, but he was lean and trim, and she could see the muscle definition across his chest and stomach. She felt the heat between her legs increase as she slowly raised her eyes back up to his face. His leg was still pressed between hers but he seemed to be waiting for her to take the lead – for her to define how they were going to proceed.

Carefully she leaned forward and kissed him slowly, sucking on his tongue as it entered her mouth and pushing her hips into his. She could feel his erection against her hips as he groaned out into her mouth. She placed her hands onto his bare chest, trying to ignore the slight tremble they had as she felt the heat of his skin. He circled his arms back around her, pushing her back into the tent pole again as they kissed more passionately. She felt his hands lift the hem of her thin long-sleeved shirt and brush up against her skin. She trembled at his touch, not from fear of him touching her scars, no – she trembled in anticipation of what his touches would bring.

Slowly he raised the hem of her shirt and she raised her arms as he gently brought it up and over her head. Despite her best efforts to not worry about her marred chest she froze in the dim light of the tent. The lights flickered gently around them in the quiet night as she stood shirtless before Harry, both of her hands clutching his chest. She had dropped her head after the shirt passed over her and her eyes were now locked to his chest. She was breathing quickly from their heated kiss and her heart hammered as she waited for Harry to respond. _Breathe, breathe, just breathe – it’s fine, don’t worry about what you look like_ , she repeated the mantra in her head as she tried to empty her thoughts.

“Hermione,” he whispered gently as he dropped his forehead to lean against her own. His hands were firmly on her hips and he slowly began to trace one up her side as she shivered. “You are beautiful.”

Hermione shuddered against him as his hand caressed her side gently and he dipped his head back down to capture her lips. He kissed her gently, reassuringly, knowing that this was difficult – that it had probably taken every ounce of courage that she had to let him remove her shirt. Slowly she started to respond with more fever, and the pace of their locked lips quickened as he pushed himself into her once more. Her hands travelled down his chest and grabbed onto the belt of his jeans. She tugged it gently before she broke their kiss to speak.

“Harry,” she panted against his ear. “Take me to your bed.”

Harry responded by kissing her fiercely and gripping her hips tightly. They moved together to his bunk just a few steps away, their kiss unbroken until Hermione’s knees bumped against the frame of his bunk and she dropped back onto it, moving back against his pillows. Harry followed her quickly, crawling over top of her and locking their lips once more. He was laying between her legs, hands tangled in her hair again, his hard length pressed to her core as she pushed her hips upwards into him. He groaned outwardly as he pushed back in response, his hands trailing along her body as his lips moved fluidly against hers.

Hermione’s body was practically vibrating at his touch, the heat between her legs flared as he pushed against her and all she could think about was how she wanted to be _closer_ to him, how she needed to feel him. Her body was starved for contact and she found her doubts and endless inner chatter falling away as she leaned into the heat between them and allowed her body to react how it wanted – without her mind over-analyzing everything as it usually would. In the strangest way it was the most _freeing_ experience she’d had to date, to let her mind empty of its constant worry and to just _be_ with Harry in this moment – to be shirtless with no regard for her scars, to be pasted up against his body and to let go of the control the war had had on her actions and life thus far.

“I want you,” she breathed against his mouth as he thrust his hips more firmly into hers and a groan seeped out between her lips. She couldn’t take the mounting pressure between her thighs any longer and she wanted to take back control of her experiences, to allow her body and mind to have this.

“I want you too, Hermione,” he breathed against her as he kissed her again.

“No, Harry,” she panted against him as she broke their kiss and moved her hand to tug on his belt. “I _want_ you.”

She realized that he had misunderstood her words, he was thinking that she meant that she wanted him in the way they had spoken of before – which was of course true, but not what she meant at the moment. The tug on his belt had gotten his attention though and he drew back to look at her face. He was propped up on his elbow, hand cradling her neck while his other hand froze along her side. His eyes had widened, still hazy with lust from their intense kiss and unbearably pleasant grinding, but her direct statement had sobered him. He was breathing hard and looking at her intently.

“Hermione,” he said quietly, his voice was that familiar deep baritone that made her toes curl in anticipation. “We don’t have to do _that_ yet, you don’t need to rush – I don’t want to push you, we have time.”

“But we don’t _know_ if we really _do_ , do we Harry,” she said quietly as she looked up at him. Her hand remained firmly on his belt and she snaked the other between them to rest in gently on the side of his face. “I’m not rushing, I want this – I want you. I want you to be my first.”

Her words were so quiet that had it been a windy night in the Forest of Dean he wouldn’t have heard her. She felt her heart twist in anticipation as she gauged Harry’s face. His want was evident, and she could see him struggling internally – clearly worried that she might be rushing into things between them. His body was still rigid and pressed hard against hers, still flushed from their contact.

“Harry, we don’t know what’s going to happen. I want to be optimistic – that things will turn out fine, and that we will have time together in the future.” She bit her lip nervously before she spoke her next words. “But Harry I _know_ how I feel about you, and I know what I want – you know I never rush into things, so please don’t worry that that’s what this is. I – I want to do this with you. I’m tired of letting this war take from me – take from us, and I won’t let it take this from us too. I want to know what it’s like, I want to experience this while we _know_ we have the time.”

She took a breath as Harry dropped his forehead to rest on hers and let out a small groan between his teeth.

“Harry,” she spoke in barely a whisper. “I want to have sex with you.”

Her chest tightened as his eyes snapped open at her words, and she looked into them for a response. She had said it, she had made herself say _it_ out loud and now she could not help but feel absolutely mortified with herself. _Merlin help me_ , she thought as she closed her eyes tightly, unable to bear the silence between them now and the intense and calculating look Harry had been giving her.

Then she felt his lips against hers, gentle and tentative. He kissed her slowly as his hand tightened on her hip.

“You’re sure, Hermione?” he asked against her lips.

“Yes,” she whispered as she latched her lips more tightly to his.

Harry groaned out as she nervously pushed her hips up into him and he pinned her down with his hands as he ground back into her. He brought his hand to her neck, tracing the lines of her while he turned his head to kiss her more deeply. She could feel the restraint Harry had begin to fall away once more as their kiss quickened. Hermione brought both of her hands down to his belt and undid the buckle before nervously unbuttoning the top button of his jeans. She could feel the heat of him through the fabric and her hand shook with nerves as she undid the zipper of his jeans.

She was a bundle of nerves – not doubt – just nerves. She had no idea what to expect, no idea what she was doing, no idea how to touch a man in this way. Harry readjusted himself above her, his lips leaving hers as he sat up and shucked off his pants so that he was only in his boxers. Then slowly, with intense heat in his eyes he lowered his hands to her pants and undid the button. She watched, completely still as he slowly pulled her jeans down her legs until she was left only in her knickers. She had to clench the sheets on his bed to keep her hands from instinctively covering herself from his view. But she remained strong and forced herself to accept her mostly naked presence in front of Harry. _If I can’t be mature enough for him to see me naked, we shouldn’t be having sex_ , she thought firmly as she forced herself to sit up and reach her hands behind herself.

Her hands fumbled as she unclasped her bra and slowly removed the straps from her shoulders. Harry watched her movements, his eyes tracking her hands like a hawk as she pulled the bra away and left her chest exposed for him to see. She could hear his slight intake of breath as he gazed at her and she could feel the heat on her cheeks intensify under this stare. Then she was on her back again, leaned against the pillow as Harry kissed her deeply. He ran his hand over her chest nervously, gently palming her breasts as he muttered that she was ‘ _perfect’_ and ‘ _beautiful_ ’ against her neck. She could feel his hard length pressed directly against her core, separated only by the thin fabric of her knickers and his boxers. She shuddered deliciously against him as he pressed himself against her and she moaned out his name as he rolled his hips into hers and teased her nipples with his fingers.

“Harry,” she panted against his neck as she clutched him tightly to her and bit his shoulder gently. She wasn’t sure where the desire to bite him had come from, but she’d done it before she’d even thought it through. Harry’s groan in response made her stomach flutter before she continued. “Harry – pl – please.”

He slid his hand down her side and hooked a thumb under the band of her knickers before bringing his lips away from her neck to pull them all the way to her calves. She kicked them off the remainder of the way and waited while he braced himself on his elbow to pull off his own boxers. Then they laid there, Harry propped up on his elbow – eyes devouring her body as they flicked from her face, to her chest, to the newly revealed space between her legs. She couldn’t help the intake of breath that escaped her as she looked over his body – from his lustful wanting eyes, to his well-muscled chest, to the large erect member between his legs she felt the heat in her double. She found herself wondering how _it_ was going to _fit_ down there.

Sensing her apprehension Harry lowered himself back on top of her and kissed her deeply. She melted against him and moaned when he brought two fingers to slide through her already slick folds. He stroked her clit gently, falling into the rhythm that he had used the last time he brought her over the edge and the coil in her core wound tightly at his touch. When he slipped a finger slowly inside her she gasped against his lips, her body unfamiliar with the intrusion. She had _never_ had _anything_ inside her before – even in all the times she had ever tried touching herself she had only ever danced on the surface and stroked her clit. Harry was moving his finger inside her as if he was searching for something, stroking gently around. After a moment of his prodding her mind began to wonder what it was he was doing, or if sex was even going to be that enjoyable – aside from the pleasant pressure of having something _inside_ her, she couldn’t help but feel like his finger seemed to be wandering aimlessly without much result. But she pushed her thoughts down and tried to relax, unwilling to give in to her nervousness and worried thoughts that she may not enjoy sex.

He drew back from her to look at her face and her eyes fluttered open to see him staring down at her with a look of concentration in his eyes. Heat flushed to her face. _His finger is inside me and he is just looking at me,_ embarrassment flooded through her as her mind began to examine the ridiculous level of intimacy between them and the fact that Harry was _watching_ her. _Watching me for what?_ She was about to close her eyes or cover her face with her hand when Harry twisted his finger up toward her stomach and stroked against a rough patch of nerves bundled inside her that she didn’t know existed – her eyes rolled back and she groaned out loudly as her hips reflexively thrust against his finger. Her eyes opened in a haze and she saw Harry grinning widely above her.

“There it is,” his voice was deep and husky, and she didn’t have a moment to question what he meant as he stroked her there again while his thumb pressed gently against her clit. Her eyes rolled back once more and fluttered shut. She felt her legs fall open wider and she moaned out as Harry continued to move his fingers against her, bringing her closer and closer to the edge as the coil tightened and her breathing quickened. His hard length was pressed firmly against her thigh and she felt him grinding it into her.

“Harry,” she panted, as she pushed her hips up to meet the now two fingers he had placed inside her. “Harry – pl – please.”

Her voice stuttered as she spoke, her heart pounded, she was wet, wanting, desperate for his touch and she did not give a flying fuck how she looked, how she sounded, or whether or not they were being proper. She just knew that she wanted more. She needed more.

“I won’t last long,” Harry spoke against her as he now began to gently spread the two fingers that he was still moving inside her. “I can make you come first – it might hurt when we do it, and I won’t – I won’t last long.”

“No,” she gasped out as he circled his thumb over her clit once more. “Harry – please, I want you – I want you inside me, I want to feel you – please, Harry.”

Harry nodded against her neck and she felt his hand fall away from her core as he reached down to his own member. She blushed deeply when she realized that he had stroked himself with her own wetness to add some lubrication. He moved directly between her legs and paused above her. She looked into his eyes and could see the nervous excitement that they held – she imagined that they looked similar to her own. They smiled nervously at each other before Harry spoke.

“Are you ready?” he asked her in a quiet deep rumble.

“Yes,” she breathed as she spread her legs a bit wider for him.

“If it hurts too much, tell me to stop Hermione – promise?”

“I promise.”

She did not look away from his eyes as she felt the tip of his cock press up against her slick folds. Her stomach turned in nervousness, her heart was once again racing, and she found that she had to remind herself to breath. He was looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world when he slowly – oh so slowly, pushed into her. Her breath caught in her chest, her eyes widened as she felt herself stretching to accommodate him, and she found herself gripping his shoulder tightly. It didn’t _hurt_ per se. _No,_ she thought, _that wouldn’t be the right word_. _It’s ‘tight’ and it ‘pinches’ and it’s borderline uncomfortable – but it doesn’t hurt_. She breathed out sharply when he had pushed himself in to his entirety. She felt _full_ and _stretched._ His eyes fluttered shut, his head tilted back to the ceiling and he groaned out in the deepest most animalistic sound of pleasure that she had ever heard. He paused for a moment and remained unmoving inside her before his eyes snapped open and he looked down at her through a haze of lust.

“Fuck, Hermione,” he groaned as he dropped his forehead to rest on hers. “Are you okay?”

His voice sounded a bit tense and Hermione could tell by his death grip on the sheets by her head and the way he held her side tightly that he was struggling to control himself.

“Yes,” she nodded to him to reaffirm. She wanted to feel him move, she wanted to see how this went. “Yes – you can move Harry, it’s okay – keep going.”

His jaw clenched tightly in control as he slowly moved himself back out and then in. He groaned as he moved, and Hermione winced slightly at the tightness. _Still not painful,_ she thought – but it certainly wasn’t the greatest feeling she had ever experienced. After two more slow thrusts, he dropped his weight to his side so he could move his hand between them and stroke her clit. She groaned as he changed his angle and his slow thrusts started to align with that bundle of nerves he had located earlier. She moaned against him as he muttered praise against her neck, and she forced her mind to focus on the gentle and delicious movements of his fingers against her clit instead of the pinching, tight feeling of him moving inside her. She found it wasn’t so bad, actually it was even a bit enjoyable – if the pinching tightness from her core were to go away eventually, she would be able to come undone like this and she began to understand why people thought sex was so bloody fantastic.

After several more slow thrusts Harry’s breath hitched and he quickened his pace before he came undone. His hands fisted the sheets tightly by her head, his dishevelled hair fell in his face as he gasped out her name and a collection of expletives in groans. His head titled back toward the ceiling of the tent as he came and his expression almost looked pained. His whole body had tensed in his final quick thrusts into her and his hand on her clit fell away to brace himself tightly on her hip. Hermione watched him in awe, she wondered if this was what she looked like when she came because the only word that crossed her mind as she looked up at him was _beautiful_. The heat at her center still burned as she felt him fill her up as he came inside her. He dropped his head down to rest his forehead against hers as he panted, eyes still shut tightly. She held her grip tightly on his shoulders as he came down from his high, his breathing starting to slow and she watched his pinched expression relax into what could only be defined as pure bliss.

“Sorry,” He murmured. “I – I couldn’t stop myself from coming – I – did I hurt you?”

“No,” she breathed against him before he gave her a slow and passionate kiss.

He dropped more to his side and brought his hand back to her center. He traced his hand over her clit in slow circles as he kissed her lazily in contentment.

“Harry,” she spoke between their kisses. “You don’t have to – it’s okay.”

“I know,” he said as his lips grinned against her neck and he nipped her gently. “But I want to”.

Hermione shivered under him as he began to rub her clit in the way that he knew would make her come. Harry was still hard inside her and she found that the tight feel of him there was only making the way that he was touching her feel even better. She writhed against his fingers and allowed the moans to pleasure to pour past her lips. She clung to him tightly as he quickened his hand and brought her to orgasm. Without realizing it she found she was thrusting herself on Harry’s slowly softening member as she came. Her body felt limp and tired when she came down from her high. Harry was laying next to her and at some point, he had slipped out of her. She rolled on to her side to face him, as she tried to catch her breath. Bringing her hand up to stroke the damp hair away from Harry’s eyes. She knew that her own curls were a wretched disaster at this point and they would be a lost cause until they were washed again.

They laid there quietly for several minutes, but the silence was not uncomfortable. Harry was running his hand up and down her upper arm while they looked at each other. She never would have thought that she could stare into someone else’s eyes for such a long time without it being awkward – but this wasn’t. It felt surreal, and intimate and… _perfect_ her brain supplied. She could see everything in his eyes. His hope, his wants, his dreams. The way that he looked at her she could tell that he felt the same way as she did, he would do anything for her because he cared for her, he needed her, he – her brain stopped, he loved her. She could see it, it almost poured from his eyes. She was nervous to think too long on that last one, but her heart was bursting at the seams as she looked at him. Maybe it was her post-orgasm high, or the fact that she was laying next to Harry naked, but she could not stop the string of words as they floated to her mind. _I love him_.

She knew that she did – she had for years, but back then it had been different. She loved him because he was her best friend, he was the person she could count on most, they were a team. _Though, that hasn’t changed has it_ , she thought as she traced the contours of his face with her thumb. _He’s still my best friend, he’s still the only person I can count on and we are still a team_. She still loved him like that – but now the words tugged deeper at her heart and they seemed to take a whole new meaning. She was surprised when her mouth opened and seemed to move on its own accord.

“Harry I –“ she paused as her voice caught in her throat. “You know that I-“

Harry laid there, his eyes unmoving from her face as he waited for her to finish. Hermione clenched her hands determinedly in the sheets, and her heart tightened in her chest as her eyes searched his face. She had decided not to waste the time that they knew they had with waiting for sex – and this should be no different. She wanted to make sure that she was able to tell him, so she forced herself to be brave one last time for the night.

“I love you, Harry.”

Harry’s hand stopped stroking her upper arm and for a second Hermione thought that she might be physically ill by his lack of response – then he pulled her tightly to his chest.

“I love you, Hermione,” he spoke gently in her ear as he held her closely.

She felt her heart thud hard at his words, she buried her head against his chest as a smile broke out across her face and she felt the prickle of tears threaten her eyes. She knew that this was probably an immature and childish declaration of love compared to what Molly and Arthur, or Tonks and Remus shared – but she didn’t care. They had been through so much, they had fought and stood by each other for years and she _knew_ that she cared for him. Perhaps her love was young and immature, and perhaps it wouldn’t compare to that of others – but it didn’t make it any less real, and she needed Harry to know that he _was_ loved. That she loved him. That she would continue to love him. She gripped him tightly as she laid in his arms, face pressed firmly to his chest, listening to his even breathing. They laid in each other’s arms for several minutes, content, calm and relaxed, Harry squeezing her close until he abruptly pushed her back from him and looked her in the eyes. His eyes were worried, and he looked slightly uncomfortable.

“Hermione – I – I didn’t, did you,” his words were flustered, and a deep blush spread across his cheeks. “We didn’t use any contraceptive.”

“Oh,” Hermione let out a small laugh as a blush flooded her own face. “Harry’s it’s okay – I should have said something earlier, I didn’t even think to mention it – I’m already on one, I took one during the summer.”

“Oh thank god,” relief flooded Harry’s face as he let out a deep breath. Then his brows furrowed in confusion. “Wait, not that I’m complaining – but why had you taken a contraceptive?”

Hermione blushed deeply at his words and looked down at his chest before she responded.

“Mrs. Weasley,” she said with an embarrassed sort of shrug. “She made Ginny and I take one this summer before the wedding – she’d brewed a batch for all the girls – she even tried to get Fleur to take it in hopes that it might delay Bill and her from having a kid ‘ _too soon after just getting married’_. But when Fleur found out that it would last for a year she refused.”

“It lasts for a year?” Harry asked somewhat incredulously.

“Yes,” Hermione laughed now as she realized that Harry didn’t know. “It’s the same one that Madam Pomfrey encourages all the girls to take at school starting in 6th year. Obviously, the teachers don’t condone sex while at school, but they’re not stupid and they know it happens. So, to try and prevent teenage pregnancy each year at the start of the semester she hands out contraception potions that last for the year. I had taken one in 6th year because it also helps with… other things – so when Mrs. Weasley pushed for us to take one during the summer, I thought it was a good idea.”

Harry nodded in understanding. At her mention of _other_ _things_ his eyes had shown some confusion, but he had either figured out what she meant or decided he wasn’t going to ask. Either way Hermione was grateful as it saved her the conversation of how contraception potion helped regulate your period and hormones during your cycle. Not that she wasn’t comfortable talking to Harry about those things – just that right now she wanted to enjoy being close to him.

“Well it’s a good thing that you’re on the ball,” Harry muttered as he pulled her back into him. “I didn’t even think about it until _after_.”

Hermione laughed against his chest as they laid there a little while longer. After a while they both started to get cold, and Harry slowly untangled himself from her arms to pull on his jeans before heading to the bathroom. Hermione threw on her shirt and knickers then used the bathroom once Harry was finished. She was surprised to find that her legs moved stiffly, and Harry asked her twice if _‘she was sure she was okay’_ as she passed him on her way to the bathroom. She’d kissed him gently and reassured him that she was fine – and she was. She was stiff, yes, and she felt stretched and perhaps a bit sore – but she was not hurt, and she definitely did _not_ regret her decision. She imagined that the more you had sex the better it felt, and she couldn’t quite stop the blush and grin that spread across her face at the thought of being with Harry again.

Harry decided to take the first watch that night, and Hermione decided to sleep in his bunk after she quickly changed his sheets. She grinned as Harry dropped an extra blanket over her and kissed her slowly and deeply, stroking the side of her face gently before he pulled away.

“Wake me up if anything happens, okay?” She called to him as he went to leave the tent.

“You know I will,” he called back with a small smile.

Hermione rolled to her side to watch the entrance of the tent before she fell asleep. She could not remove the smile that lingered on her lips as she thought about what had just happened – that Harry and her were _together_ , that she had fully reclaimed her confidence in her body after the brutal attack, and that she was no longer going to allow the war to dictate her life. _Hermione Granger is no longer a virgin_ , she thought as she closed her eyes. _And she is no longer going to bow to her fear of the_ war. She smiled once more as she nuzzled her face into Harry’s pillow. It smelled of him. Her last thought before sleep claimed her quickly was how _perfect_ this Christmas had been.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild patronus appears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Happy Sunday! I hope that you enjoy Chapter 16! (this one ended up long and got split as well. Second half is not done yet… hopefully will be posted by Wednesday)  
> 2\. Finally, some more plot progress, I promise there will be more than sitting in tents soon ;)  
> 3\. Comments and feedback are always appreciated :) And as always, thank you for reading!  
> 4\. You beautiful humans inspire me, thank you <3
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Updates on Sunday +/- a few days.

Harry sat outside the tent on a large log that he had dragged over from some nearby trees. This log had not suffered the same fate as those at their last camping location – it was free of scratches and had not been exploded by their duelling practice. It was a surprisingly comfortable seat, so he made a mental note to keep this log as a lookout seat and locate some different ones tomorrow for duelling practice. The air was cold, quiet and still, not a single movement except the small cloud he made each time he exhaled. Harry hugged the jar of blue flames tightly to his chest, despite the chill he was content, happy and could not shake the smile that lingered on his lips.

Hermione _loved_ him. Hearing her say those words made his heart feel calm, and made his soul feel like it had a place to belong. After losing Sirius in 5th year Harry’s hope of having a family after _you know who_ was defeated had slowly melted away. While he knew that he _belonged_ in the Weasley family – Molly and Arthur had all but legally adopted him as their 7th son – he still felt a deep emptiness where he knew a sense of belonging should be. When he first got together with Ginny he had once again gained that feeling of _true_ belonging, the feeling that he had craved since those long, dark, cramped nights in his cupboard. However, when he and Ginny split up – despite it being completely mutual and what he knew they both wanted – he still could not help but feel like he had once again lost his place in the world and the opportunity to have a true family.

Though the Weasleys would still accept him even if he never married into the family, he could not help but wonder how close they would actually be once this was over. A tiny part of him worried that his relationship with the Weasley's could be permanently damaged by his relationship with Hermione. As he sat on his surprisingly comfortable unscratched log thoughts of Ron popped into his head and a small part of him felt guilty – he had just had sex with the girl that Ron supposedly liked. He stared down at the jar of blue flames, watching it flicker gently and cast shadows against his hands while he shook his head to dispel the guilt. The thought was somewhat ridiculous really, he knew that the guilt was unwarranted. While some would see him as a treacherous and perhaps backstabbing friend – Harry knew better. He hadn’t broken Ron’s trust by falling for Hermione and sleeping with her – Ron never truly liked Hermione in that way to start with. He _knew_ it because they had talked about Hermione a few times in the dormitories.

It was blatantly obvious that Ron’s _feelings_ had been largely based on the proximity between him and Hermione, and the fact that in the last year Hermione had grown ‘ _sort of nice tits’_ – as Ron had so graciously put it – and that she now had a more noticeably slender and feminine waist. Ron was much more at the mercy of his hormones than Harry seemed to be, and he had commented on several female classmates over the last 12 months. His interest and attention span seemed to flicker day by day depending on who he spent more time with and who was wearing ‘ _particularly fit clothes’_. Ron’s interest in Hermione only started when she gained her more female figure and became _appealing_ to look at. Prior to that, Ron never even acknowledged Hermione as a female and often hurt her feelings by being rude or inconsiderate. The two of them had nothing in common and argued constantly, if anything ever _had_ happened between them it _never_ would have lasted. Harry knew that given some space and exposure to other women Ron would latch on to the next girl just as well.

 _Besides,_ Harry thought bitterly as he gripped the jar more tightly. _I’m not sure I care if Ron’s upset, I’m not sure I even feel bad about it_. To be frank, at the moment Harry was not even sure that he considered Ron his friend anymore, and he knew that Hermione had forever changed the way that she viewed Ron as well. She wasn’t angry, she was just realistic and detached with the situation – and she had started to cut the strings that held Ron to them. Ron abandoned them, plain and simple. He left them when they needed to stick together, when they needed to be strong together. He always knew Ron was immature and a tad bit unreliable, but his choice to leave had been a hard blow to their friendship, possibly irreparable as it had made something deep within Harry snap. If and when he ever saw Ron again, he wasn’t sure what they would be going forward. They certainly wouldn't jump back into how things were before he left.

 _No,_ he thought as he gazed back out into the woods. _Ron lost that right_. If he was ever to be a part of his or Hermione’s life again, he would need to start over and re-earn their trust. Working his way slowly bit by bit into their lives – and knowing Hermione, it was possible that Ron would never be able to repair the damage he had done. While she didn’t exactly hold grudges, she did remember everything. And while she would offer forgiveness, Hermione did not confuse forgiveness with reconciliation or trust. She was strict, fierce and did not fuck around when it came to loyalty. A small smile graced his lips when he thought back to Marrietta and the jinx that she had placed on the DA sign up page. His heart fluttered when he thought of her fierce loyalty and determination – it was one of the things that he loved most about her. _Yes,_ he thought with a sigh, _if Ron ever does come back, he is in for a rude awakening when it comes to Hermione_. She would not go easy on him.

The truth was it was difficult to feel guilt about what happened between him and Hermione because of an immature _boy_ who had _abandoned_ his best friends in their time of need – couple that with the things that Ron had said to himself and Hermione, it was hard to give a shit about how he might feel. He knew his only true regret was if he lost the closeness with Weasley family as a result. He just hoped that Arthur and Molly were objective enough to realize that what happened and the one to cause the damage between them was Ron – but he would deal with that and deal with Ron at a later time.

Instead he allowed his mind to wander back to Hermione and the warmth of her touch against his skin and the words that she had allowed herself to speak. He had been a bit surprised by Hermione taking the bold step of acknowledging her feeling for him and even more surprised that she had actually decided to voice them those feelings to him. From the look that shone in her eyes, he knew that she meant it, and that she wanted him to know – _needed_ him to know that he was loved. It made his heart ache with joy that she understood so easily how he felt and what he needed most above everything else – a place to belong, a place to know he was wanted. It meant more to him than he would ever be able to explain in words that she had been willing to share her feelings with him despite her own worries and anxieties over the war.

He had meant it when he told her that she didn’t need to rush and that he was genuinely happy with whatever it was that she was willing to give him. That said, he certainly wasn’t going to complain about the events of this evening. It was by far the _best_ Christmas he had ever had in his life and he couldn't stop thinking about the feel of Hermione’s soft skin against his body – the way she had trembled under his touch and pulled him closer to her. He had been completely caught off guard by how fucking amazing sex felt too, he knew that it would feel good but holy shit he really did not expect the heat or how tight the clamp of her walls against him would be. _Or how bloody brilliant it felt to move inside her,_ his mind offered to his assessment of sex. His body still tingled from the intense climax he had had, it was definitely the hardest he had ever come in his life. Honestly, he was a bit concerned that he might have blown some blood vessels during the experience.

His eyes scanned the wooded area around him as he remembered the look on Hermione’s face when he had finally managed to find that little bundle of nerves inside her. After their snogging sessions, he had started to do some reading on female anatomy – for educational reasons of course. He was never planning to push anything with Hermione until she instigated it, but he wanted to be prepared. Maybe it sounded clinical and perhaps some of the guys from school would have laughed at him, but he didn’t care. It had _clearly_ been worth it. He couldn't stop the self-satisfying smirk that came to his lips when he thought about the other boys his age who had fumbled around during their first time and how he had managed not to be one of them. He’d heard stories in the boys’ dormitories about some pretty rough first experiences – and he was very happy that he had decided to take a leaf from Hermione’s book and do some _research_ on the topic beforehand. He cringed at the idea of having his first time end in tears and embarrassment like it had for Seamus – who had apparently gotten drunk at his family’s Christmas get together in 6th year, accidentally hooked up with a distant cousin and ended up coming in her eye after trying to pull out after two thrusts when the girl had smacked him and said it hurt too much.

He had been a bit worried that he might have hurt Hermione when he lost control at the end and pumped into her quickly – but she had reassured him that she was unharmed. From the expression on her face during he could tell that she was intrigued by the activity – but he suspected that she did not particularly _enjoy_ it, though she also wasn’t exactly _hurt_ by it either. He made a mental note to ask her next time what felt good or if there was any other way that he could do _it_ to make it feel a bit better for her. It felt a bit unfair that he was in such extreme pleasure and she was left feeling unsure of it and tolerating what was probably uncomfortable. Apparently, it got better the more you did it – so said Lee Jordan – but until that happened, he felt better knowing he had been able to make her come while he was still inside her. Her gentle thrusting against his softening dick encouraged him that this could become an enjoyable experience for both of them someday.

He hadn't expected her to want to go that far so soon, but frankly her reasons were practical and logical – just like her. It exactly complemented his reasons for wanting to be with her – because he didn’t know how much time he would have with her, if they’d make it through the war and that he believed that having her at his side made him feel stronger, it made him motivated to keep trying. He sighed inwardly at this thought and dropped his head to his hands. The events of Godric’s Hollow had highlighted his single biggest flaw. He groaned and rubbed his hands across his face. He knew that the next step was to find a way to improve the shield charm to better protect against physical damage – but the biggest flaw was his inability to close his mind to Voldemort. He should have tried harder to learn occlumency when Snape had tried to teach him. While he adamantly maintained that Snape had been a right bastard in his training approach, he could not deny the fact that he didn’t try as hard as he could have either. Begrudgingly, he resolved to speak with Hermione about occlumency tomorrow morning and see if there was a way the two of them could practice is despite neither of them being trained or knowledgeable in the skill.

He was taken from his thoughts when he felt a small breeze float past his cheek and a whisper of a touch against the outermost protective alarm. It felt like something had brushed up against the perimeter of the alarm but did not cross through the shield. He tensed on his spot, tightened his grip on Hermione’s wand and squinted his eyes to see into the dark of the forest. He stood slowly and sidestepped silently toward the door of the tent. His eyes darted around as he strained his ears to hear for any unusual sounds, but the silence of the forest was deafening, and his ears felt like they were starting to ring. The first alarm had been set 600 meters out, so he had time to react and to warn Hermione if something happened. So far, he couldn’t hear or see anything, and a quick detection spell showed no evidence of anything _alive_ present. When he felt the gentle brush on the shield for the second time he slowly backed toward the tent to get Hermione.

-x-x-

Hermione was woken from a deep sleep by the faint brushing of something against the outermost alarm spell. It felt like a light breeze or a feather had touched her mind. The touch had been gentle and cautioned, it didn’t feel like someone had blindly stumbled upon the alarm without knowing it was there. Whatever it was – it didn’t breach the shield, so the alarm had not been fully set off. She had tied her alarms to Harry so that he could feel them too and she was sure that he must have felt the contact. She pushed her messy curls from her face and rubbed her eyes, sitting up quickly on Harry’s bunk and placing her feet on the freezing floor. Whatever had brushed gently against her spell must have sensed it beforehand as the touch was almost tentative and unsure, if not _inquisitive_ _–_ which made her furrow her brows as her mind raced to try and figure out what might have happened.

She stood up fast, grabbed her purse from the nightstand and wandlessly summoned a pair of pants, socks, the locket and her warm tight-fitting long-sleeved sweater. They had left the locket in her purse for the day so they could have a break from it – which turned out well given the activities they had partaken in. But she, like Harry, did not trust leaving it in her purse unattended for too long. She dressed quickly and was pulling on her last sock when she felt a gentle brush against the shield for a second time. Her head darted up toward the door, her eyes wide with caution – she needed to go get Harry, something was going on. Despite how tired her body felt from her earlier _activities_ , she grabbed her jacket and boots and walked toward the exit. She made it almost to the tent door when she saw Harry backing inside the tent, holding the flame jar at his side and her wand tightly in his raised hand. 

"Harry," she said in a low whisper as she began to pull her curls into a loose braid at the back of her neck.

Harry turned his head a fraction, indicating that he had heard her, but he did not remove his eyes from the tent doorway.

"You felt it too?" He whispered back.

"Yeah,” she said as she began to pull her boots, lacing them quickly and standing to put on her jacket. “Did you hear anything out there, or see anything?”

“No,” he spoke quietly, and she could see his brow furrow slightly. “It’s dead quiet out there to the point that it’s deafening. Something just brushed the alarm twice, but it didn’t go off. I cast a detection spell but nothing showed – do you think someone might have noticed our shields and is lingering on the edge of our secure zone?”

“I'm not sure,” she stated slowly as she approached to stand at Harry’s side and look out the door of the tent. The cold air woke whatever remained of her sleepy state and she felt alert as the cold stung her cheeks. Her breath puffed out when she whispered next to his side. “If someone is lingering on the outskirts Harry – we need to go. Whatever that was – it was purposeful, the touch wasn’t careless or an accident, the alarm would have been set-off if it was.”

Harry nodded silently beside her, his eyes still scanning the dark forest that surrounded them.

“We should pack up then,” he whispered after a moment and finally turned to face her. Hermione could see the concern in his eyes. “Here, take your wand and get started – I’ll grab what I can by hand.”

Hermione nodded once in affirmation and began to summon the loose items from the tent and pack them into her purse. They moved silent as the night, unspeaking and focused. Harry had collected the books she had left out and several other items from around the tent. In a few short minutes they had everything inside the tent packed away and Hermione was walking to join Harry at the entrance when they both froze – their eyes locked intently, and Hermione shivered. There was a brush against the second alarm at 400m out. The hair on the back of her neck stood, and she walked rapidly toward Harry, seeing the tight line of his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

“I’ll get the North side you get the South,” he directed as he moved to begin collecting tent pegs.

Hermione moved quickly, each step purposeful as she went to the South side of the tent to remove the sticking charms and pull out the tent pegs. She shivered again as she felt the gentle feather-like touch brush against her 300m alarm, the contact was so soft and gentle she couldn’t figure out what it was or what was happening. There was definitely contact, something was absolutely making its way through her alarms and its pace was quickening, but whatever it was couldn’t be alive or it would have set off the charms.

Thankfully, they were both capable of completing these basic spells without wands, so when she met Harry back at the entrance, he had completed the North side of the tent. They both tensed and looked at each other with concern as the 200 meter alarm was brushed with the same light contact. Hermione raised her wand quickly and cast the spell to collapse the tent as Harry opened her purse for her to pack up the disassembled and shrunken tent inside. Whatever it was that was moving toward them was picking up its pace further – almost like its first movements through the alarms had been cautious to ensure nothing was set off. She had just finished storing the tent when she felt the last alarm brushed. Hermione stood quickly at Harry’s side, her left hand grasping his tightly as she raised her wand in front of them. She was just about to apparate them away when Harry spoke in a low and urgent whisper.

“Wait,” he said as he gripped her hand tightly.

“Harry what –“ her words died on her lips when she turned to look at Harry but her eyes caught the bright silvery-white object Harry was staring at to his left. They stood perfectly still, hands tightly clasped as the light approached them until its form became clear. “A patronus?”

“A doe,” Harry said quietly as he looked at the beautiful creature that stood about 20 meters in front of them now.

The patronus had stopped its approach and appeared to be cautiously lingering by a tree as it stared at them. _That makes sense,_ Hermione thought as she looked at the doe but kept her wand still raised and her ears focused for any sound around them. A patronus wouldn’t set off the alarms that she had set as it was not _alive._ The alarms she had been using alerted of breeches by any living creature – aside from the natural wildlife that she had made exceptions for, not wanting them to be woken up anytime a mouse ran past the perimeter or a bird swooped in and out – but she had never considered a patronus when she constructed the alarms. The doe took a few tentative steps forward and tilted its head gently as it looked at them, then began walking slowly to the right before it stopped and looked back at them as if waiting.

“Harry,” Hermione spoke in her low whisper. “Do you think it has a message for us – I don’t know anyone who has a doe patronus – do you?”

“No,” Harry said slowly, as a frown crossed his face. “But I think it wants us to follow it.”

Hermione exhaled in frustration, her warm breath clouding in front of her face as she tried to calm the nerves that began to twist within her. She knew that Harry was right. The patronus was clearly motioning for them to follow by cautiously walking toward them, then moving further to the right and stopping each time to look over its shoulder at them as if waiting. The doe never got closer than 20 meters away and it seemed patient in its motions.

“Harry, I don’t know,” she said cautiously as she looked between the doe and his face. “This could be Godric’s Hollow all over again – what if this is just another trap, who would send a patronus here and why?”

“I know,” he said slowly as he watched the deer. She could tell that he was thinking things through and he stood quietly for a moment before he gripped her hand more tightly and spoke. “It doesn’t feel like Bathilda’s though does it? I mean I don’t know anyone who has a doe patronus but – this feels familiar, calm – I can’t explain it, but I don’t have any sort of sense that it wants to cause harm. Whoever cast it either sent it from afar to send a message of some sort – or they’re waiting on the edge of our alarms because they can’t get to us without setting them off.”

“I agree,” she breathed quietly beside him as she looked into the pale eyes of the doe shape before them. She sighed again. “Okay – fuck, okay – so what do you think we should do? If it has a message it would have come to us by now, so it’s clearly trying to lead us somewhere. I agree that it doesn’t feel like Bathilda’s but that doesn’t mean it’s safe – I don’t want to walk into another trap – but I also don’t want us to apparate away from someone who might be here to help us.”

She gripped Harry’s hand more firmly as she rolled the options over in her mind.

“It’s possible,” she continued. “that the doe belongs to someone we know, but who’s patronus we haven’t seen before. We don’t know Molly’s – it’s possible it could even be hers. I just don’t know Harry.”

Harry had squeezed her hand once in return and took a tentative step toward the doe.

“I think we should follow it,” he paused slightly when he heard Hermione exhale in frustration again. He knew she was torn – there was no winning in this situation and with no clear _logical_ choice he knew that she was frustrated and would struggle to make a decision. The fact was – if it was a trap and they walked directly into it they could be completely fucked. But, if it was a friend who had come to them and they walked away from it they could also be completely fucked. It was possible that a friend had finally located them and came with either supplies or information, both of which were critical and there was no guarantee that whoever it was would be able to find them again. And he knew that Hermione knew this. “We can cast our shield charms, we’ll move slow and cautious, cast detection spells every few meters and maintain contact. If _anything_ happens, we leave right away. I just – if it’s friendly and we leave we might never meet up again and what if they’re here with something we need?”

“I know,” Hermione ground out through her teeth. “I thought the same thing – I just can’t believe we’re doing this again – fuck, why is _nothing_ ever simple.”

“Why is it _always_ us,” Harry whispered back with a nervous smile on his face, sounding so much like Professor Mcgonagall had back in 6th year. Hermione couldn’t help the small smile that flittered to her lips his comment.

“Well – at least we’ll never be able to say our lives were boring,” she sighed as she stepped forward to stand next to him again and stood as close to him as possible. Harry used his free hand to grip her forearm through her coat and now holding her with both hands pulled them even closer together. Then, they both took another step toward the doe.

The doe had been watching their exchange patiently and once they took a few steps towards it, it had turned to face forward and began walking toward the outer edge of their alarms. Every so often Harry and Hermione stopped to cast _homenum_ _revelio_ while never letting go of each other’s hand and each time the doe waited for them to complete their spell before moving forward again. When they were within 50 meters of their last alarm they stopped and crouched low to the ground, their _homenum_ _revelio_ revealed nothing and they still could not hear or see anything in front of them. If someone was waiting for them on the other side of the alarm, they were not anywhere close to it.

“We’ll cast the shields now,” Hermione whispered as she pointed her wand at herself and whispered _Plenus-Protego-corPus-LoComotor_. The familiar purple spell quickly incased her before becoming transparent, then she handed her wand to Harry for him to cast his own. She noted that the doe appeared to be watching them with interest as they each cast their shields – its head was once again tilted to the side, long-lashed eyes staring at them with interest. Once both shields were fully engaged, they each set an internal timer and stood to begin following the doe at their slow and steady pace. As they crossed over the final alarm threshold Hermione cast another detection spell to ensure that no one was hiding nearby – and much to her surprise, once again nothing was revealed.

The doe continued to lead them for another 100 meters until it moved out on top of a large frozen pond, its gentle hooves leaving no prints in the snow. It stood over the pond on a patch of cleared ice, pawed gently at the surface and then began to fade away – the bright light of its silvery form disappearing into the dark night. Hermione raised her lit wand to illuminate the surface of the pond before she prodded it gently with her foot. There was no doubt that the surface was frozen solid, with the cold weather they had been having this pond would be sturdy as the stone floors of Hogwarts. They both took a step out onto the ice and paused as if waiting for something to happen – but nothing did. Continuing to grip each other tightly they made their way to the center of the pond to the clear patch on which the doe had previously stood. As they closed the last few steps Hermione saw it – the silver glint of what looked like a cross and she heard Harry gasp as he pulled her forward over the last 3 steps.

“Hermione,” he spoke in disbelief as they both lowered themselves down to kneel on the ice. “It’s the sword – it – I – I can’t believe this, it’s the fucking sword!”

He was whispering but she could hear the disbelief, excitement and release of tension in his voice. If this was an ambush it would have happened already – the second they were free of the alarms and wandering through the open forest they would have been attacked. She knew Harry had determined this as well, but she cast one final detection charm to soothe her inner worry and sure enough, nothing was detected. It would be ridiculously unlikely for someone to spend the effort luring them here, place the sword of Gryffindor under the ice and wait for them to find it only to then attack them. _That wouldn’t make any sense_ , she thought as she shone her wand light down at the sword. _No, whoever brought us here is a friend – or at least not a foe. Whoever cast that doe wanted to help us_.

“Whoever left this here – the doe – they meant for us to find it,” she spoke quietly as she began examining the ice to check the thickness. “We’ll need to melt the ice to get it.”

“Let’s cut a hole and see if we can summon it,” Harry nodded as they both stood quickly so Hermione could cut a hole directly above the sword.

The ice melted away easily as she traced a circle on it – but the sword did not come as she tried to summon it.

“ _Accio_ sword,” she whispered as she pointed her wand determinedly at the glinting handle. “ _Accio_ sword of Gryffindor – _Accio_ – _Accio_ Gryffindor sword.”

Harry frowned as he watched the red glinting rubies remain unmoving at the bottom of the dark pond.

“I think we have to go down there and get it,” he said slowly as pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. “I remember Dumbledore mentioning that the sword presents itself in a time of need when a Gryffindor shows bravery – but why would the sword be summoned under a fucking pond.”

“I’m not sure it was summoned Harry,” Hermione said as she turned to look at Harry. “The sword presents itself if you show bravery yes – but we haven’t shown any bravery, we were led to it. Someone – or something – has placed this here. But I suppose that in order for us to take it – maybe we have to show bravery? Otherwise, maybe we cannot keep the sword.”

“Well either way we have to go get it,” Harry looked at her with a small frown. “I’ll go get it, you can stay up here with your wand and keep watch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous Harry – I’m the better swimmer, I’ll go get the sword,” Hermione said as she stood quickly and began to unzip her jacket. _She_ would go get the sword, not only because she _was_ the stronger swimmer but also because Harry had already been through enough in Godric’s Hollow and frankly – he was more important in this war than she was. It was the reason why Dumbledore had included her and Ron on this mission in the first place, to help and protect Harry – to keep him safe. Dumbledore never outright gave the order to Ron or Hermione, but Hermione wasn’t stupid, she knew the role that he intended her to play in this war. She was meant to watch over Harry, keep him safe and ensure that he was successful in hunting Horcruxes. Besides, she knew that she would never be able to drag him out of the water without magic and based on the summoning charm not working she was concerned that this could be a real problem once the sword was in hand.

“Hermione no,” Harry had grabbed her arms to stop her as she dropped her coat to the ice. “I’ll go – you don’t need to do this for me –“

“It’s not about doing it _for_ you Harry,” Hermione cut him off with a stern look. “You’d be better above the ice – you’re a better dueller in case someone approaches, your shield will last a bit longer than mine, you’re physically stronger than I am – I wouldn’t be able to drag you out if something went wrong. What if I couldn’t summon you out once you had the sword? What if we have to get this completely without magic? I know I’m stronger now than before, but Harry I can’t drag you out of freezing water – I need you up here to watch over me and make sure that we’re both safe.”

Harry looked at her for a long moment before he closed his eyes tightly and exhaled deeply in frustration.

“Fine,” he bit out before he pulled her close to him in a tight hug. “But be _careful,_ please Hermione – I – I can’t do this without you.”

“I will,” Hermione squeezed him back tightly, the smell of him calming her anxious nerves before she pulled back and looked into his eyes.

She reached her hand up and gently stroked the side of his face before placing a gentle, slow kiss to his lips. Harry gripped her upper arms tightly and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss for a moment before pushing her back and fixing her with an intense look.

“Be quick,” he said as his chest heaved from their brief but urgent kiss.

“I will.”

Hermione then took another step back and cast several warming charms on herself before removing her boots and jeans. She hissed at the cold of her feet against the snow-covered ice and the freezing air that struck her legs as she stood before the opening in the pond in only her knickers, and her snug fitting long sleeved shirt. She cast two more warming charms before she passed her wand to Harry. Checking her internal timer she noted that her shield charm would only last for another two minutes and with any luck she would be out of the pond by then. She briefly contemplated waiting and recasting it – but she decided against it in case Harry had to try to use magic to pull her out. She wasn’t sure how the shield would handle being hit with a summoning charm, and she made a mental note to experiment with that later. They both crouched by the edge of the opening and Hermione took several deep breaths to calm her racing heart.

“I’ll see you in a second,” she said with a small smile before taking a deep breath and slipping into the inky black water. When the water surrounded her two immediate thoughts popped into her head. First was, _Holy fucking Merlin’s balls it’s cold!_ And the second was, _Thank goodness that thing glows, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to see shit down here_.

The cold-water bit angrily at her skin, made her heart stammer in her chest and her eyes whine in pain as she kept them open to be able to see. She dove forward and forced her aching legs to kick her toward the sword and her trembling arms to pull her forwards. If she ever saw her parents again after this, she would need to thank them for insisting that she take swimming lessons and pushing her to continue until she was competent. She could see the faint glint of the light from her wand as Harry evidently tried to shine it for her so she could see better. A small part of her lamented over not having her wand on her person – but they needed protection above the ice and frankly she did not trust bringing her wand down here. If she lost it, they would be complete and utterly screwed – it was their last remaining wand.

She was two feet from the sword and the water was agony, she kicked three more times and outstretched her hand, her fingers stretching as she reached for the hilt. It glinted in the faint wand light that Harry still shone through the water. Her fingers brushed the sword before she managed to close her hand tightly around the hilt. She placed her feet on the rocky bottom and was about to push herself back toward the surface when she felt it – the tight tug around her neck as the chain from the locket constricted against her windpipe. _FUCK_ – her free hand shot up to her neck, gripping at the chain, desperately trying to loosen its hold. She had completely forgot that she was wearing it, the locket must have sensed the sword and now the cursed thing was going to strangle and drown her to death. She could feel the shield charm fighting against the pressure on her neck, but there was only a few second left on her timer.

She managed a small kick off the bottom of the pond, but the locket twisted tighter and she struggled to kick her legs as the chain around her neck began to burn into her skin as her shield charm ran out. It twisted until it forced her to choke out the little remaining air that she hard. It was wrapped so tightly now that she outright gagged and her vision started to blur. Black dots started to form at the corner of her eyes as her legs kicked lamely behind her. _I’m going to die down here,_ was the last thing she thought before her vision turned to black _._

-x-x-

Harry had knelt at the edge of the hole in the ice after Hermione had slipped into the water. He pointed the light from her wand down into the inky depths in an effort to help her see – with the bright shine from the sword he figured she would have a clear path, and he wasn’t able to see any water weeds or other obstructions from the surface. He jerked his head up quickly to survey the forest around them – it was still deadly quiet, and the air was calm in the blackened woods. Looking back down in the water he saw Hermione’s slender body and perfect form – she was halfway to the sword already and she’d closed the distance in a fraction of the time it would have taken him. She truly was the better swimmer. His hands gripped the edge of the ice as he watched her take the final few strokes toward the sword, hand outstretched to grab it. She was far enough down now that it was getting harder to see her but he watched her overall movements he best he could and he felt his heart quicken and heard himself sigh audibly in relief when it looked like she had the sword.

He watched in anticipation, waiting for her to start rising to the surface the small grin that had been on his face when she grabbed the sword started to fall when he realized that she wasn’t moving up – his heart caught in his chest. It looked like she was kicking wildly near the bottom.

“FUCK!” he shouted as dread began to fill his heart. “ _Accio_ Hermione – _Accio_ sword!”

Nothing happened.

Hermione had been right – whoever set this up intended for them to obtain the sword without magic. Without a moment’s hesitation he ripped off his jacket and glasses and cast a strong warming charm before he dove headfirst into the pond. The water was frigid, and he felt his body seize as the ice-cold cut deeply into his skin. His muggle jeans were heavy as he kicked and swam desperately down toward Hermione. Her motions had slowed, her hand was on the locket chain that had wound tightly around her neck and the sword remained in the death grip of her right hand. He kicked furiously, his heart was pounding his eyes were stinging and his chest constricted so tightly he thought he might die on spot when he saw the final twitching jerk of her leg before her movements stopped completely.

He reached her body in two powerful kicks, tried to cast a bubble charm on her head and grabbed her firmly around the waist. Pushing off the bottom with as much force as he had he began kicking and pointed her wand up to the surface. He cast a _scendio_ and felt a tug on his body as they blasted to the surface. He wasn’t sure why this spell had worked while a summoning spell had not, but the rocketed upward moving faster than a hippogriff in flight before they burst through the hole and landed hard on the ice.

Coughing Harry quickly got to his knees and cast warming charms wordlessly as he rolled Hermione on to her back, she wasn’t moving, and her lips had begun to turn blue. The locket chain was still wound tightly around her neck, he grabbed it to pull it loose and found it unyielding. He reached for the sword gripped tightly in her hand – pried it from her fingers and slid it away on the surface of the ice toward the collection of Hermione’s clothes and purse. With her body now free of the sword the locket chain fell limp against her neck and Harry cast two more warming charms on Hermione as he leaned down to check her pulse by hand and cast a quick diagnostic spell – there wasn’t one.

“Oh god no,” his voice broke as his stomach lurched with the threat of vomit. The finger that rested against her neck felt nothing but cold and the diagnostic confirmed that she was not breathing, and her heart had stopped.

Without a second’s hesitation he reflectively pointed her wand directly at her chest and cast the spell Hermione had taught him to shock and restart hearts. It hit her hard in the center of her chest. He watched in awe as her back arched, her body tensed, and her bloodshot eyes snapped wide open as her face strangled into a pained expression before she inhaled deeply and began to cough violently. Water poured from her mouth as Harry gripped her tightly and rolled her to her side – pulling the Horcrux over her head and tossing it around his own neck.

“You’re okay – it’s okay, it’s okay – I’ve got you, fuck – Hermione, oh my god, I thought I’d lost you.” He could not stop the ramble which was pouring from his mouth. He pulled her up from the cold ice to lean against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her small frame, running his hands up and down her sides to warm her. He cast another warming charm around them as her coughing slowly began to subside. She was gripping his chest tightly clinging to him for warmth as her breath came in ragged pulls. They sat for several minutes before her breathing started to regulate and she pulled back slightly to look at Harry.

“I’m sorry Harry,” she struggled to force out the words. “I forgot about the locket – I – I should have taken it off before – Thank you, thank you for coming to get me.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he pulled her tightly to his chest again and kissed the top of her head. Over and over. “Do _not_ be sorry Hermione, absolutely do not be sorry – you’re so strong, I’m so glad you’re alright – I – I thought I might lose you again.”

“Not today,” she choked out a small laugh against his chest before she sat back once more and placed a small kiss on his jaw. Her breathing had calmed, her eyes were still bloodshot, her hair was a sopping mess, but she still was the most beautiful human that Harry had ever set eyes on. “Thank you, Harry – thank you for acting so quickly – but just so you know, holy shit that spell hurts – it’s fucking awful, but still – better than dying I guess.”

Harry smiled at her as his racing heart finally began to slow, he choked out a single laugh when she laughed halfheartedly at her own comment before she smiled up at him.

“Let’s get you in dry clothes,” Harry said as he untangled himself from Hermione as she nodded and summoned her dry clothes from the pile by the sword.

Casting a few warming charms on her clothes he then used a drying charm to dry the knickers and shirt she wore before casting one on her hair. Hermione stood shakily with Harry’s help and slipped on her clothes as Harry cast a few drying charms at himself before slipping his jackets back on. He ended up helping Hermione with the zipper on her jacket as she hands were shaking too much from the cold and exhaustion that now plagued her body. Once they were bundled up Harry cast a quick detection charm before taking her hand and walking toward the sword of Gryffindor that shone brightly on the surface of the ice. As they approached Hermione quickly dropped Harry’s hand and picked up the sword in both of her own, ensuring that’s he stopped a few feet back from Harry.

“Let’s not repeat that again,” she said sagely as she eyed the locket that Harry now wore. Her voice was hoarse and tired as she spoke. “They obviously can sense objects that threaten them – and clearly have the capacity to fight back.”

“No kidding,” Harry said with a grimace. “Let’s get this thing over and done with and then get out of here.”

With that they both walked slowly off the ice and toward a small rock at the side of the pond. Harry stopped before it, removed the Horcrux from his neck and placed it on the rock. Then he turned to Hermione.

(to be continued…)


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sword is found, a Horcrux is challenged, potions are brewed and a plan is hatched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sorry for the delay on this one, this week has been… well it’s certainly been something – but I’m getting through it. So here is your Sunday post a few hours early!  
> 2\. You will notice in the next few chapters that I have decided to deviate from the canon timeline regarding two major plot points: 1. the return of Ron and 2. the visit to Xenophilius Lovegood’s home. This is intentional, and I needed to do this because to create an important delta or gap between the characters.  
> I am justifying this with the following rationality: Ron came back in canon because Hermione said his name (because she cared for him) and essentially she called him there. However, in my story this is not the case and Hermione does not harbor any lingering feelings for Ron and therefore no one has ‘called’ to him yet - in fact they have not even discussed him yet. His return will happen later and in a different way. The visit with Xenophilius will occur later due to training time and other stuff that I want to happen first.  
> 3\. Feedback/comments are always appreciated. I read them all and use them to improve, I only ask that you please be constructive with your criticisms and kind with your words – after all, there are an infinite number of ways to tell a tale and this is just *one* story that I am writing for fun.
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Updates on Sunday +/- a few days.

“I’m sorry, what?” Hermione asked in disbelief as she stared at Harry with wide eyes. The sword was heavy in her shaking arms, her chest felt like someone had split it open like a watermelon, her eyes hurt, her body ached from oxygen deprivation, her head was pounding, _and_ she was still cold from being in an ice pond.

“I want you to destroy it,” Harry repeated as he looked at her intently. His face was earnest if not slightly pleading. “I think you should do it, not only because it just tried to kill you but also because I think it is important that you do it. You got the sword out of the pond – it needs to be you, I know it does.”.

 _He truly does think I should do it_ , Hermione thought inwardly as she took a breath and winced at the pain. She’d just been hit with the equivalent to a muggle defibrillator across the chest and it was painful when she breathed too deeply. Which happened to be difficult not to do since she was so bloody exhausted. The tingling sensation in her arms and fingers was distracting and borderlined on painful – a lingering side effect doubled in intensity by her time spent exposed under ice water. She suspected the sensation would linger for a day, possibly two until her body healed from having her heart restarted magically. She tried to ignore it when she gripped the hilt of the sword more tightly when Harry spoke.

“Harry,” she said slowly as she twisted the sword around between her hands. “I don’t know if I can – I – I’m so exhausted Harry, I’m not sure I have it in me.”

While her words were true and reason enough not to destroy the locket, she neglected to bring up the fact that she did not want to – that the idea of killing a Horcrux made her stomach roll over with nerves and her heart pound. After seeing the effects that the locket had on people while they wore it, she did not want to think about what it would do if you tried to kill it. It had nearly strangled her to death only moments ago when she made contact with a weapon capable of banishing it, she was terrified of what might happen if she actually tried to hit the stupid locket with it.

“You can do it,” Harry smiled gently at her before he dug into her purse that he’d still been holding and summoned out a small bottle of calming draught and pepper-up potion. “Take these first, they’ll help – but you should do this Hermione. I know you're exhausted, I know you just want to go to bed – and you bloody well deserve to – I just – I can’t explain it, I just know it needs to be you.”

Hermione accepted the two bottles from Harry and drained each of them slowly. The warmth from the pepper-up potion hit her quickly and her eyes fluttered closed as she felt the tension in her chest start to dissipate slightly. Harry knew that she was fucking exhausted, so if he was pushing for her to do this then she knew it was both important to him _and_ required. Harry had always had some sort of connection to _you know who_ and the Horcruxes it seemed, so she tended to trust his judgement on them when he made a request. She felt the warmth from the pepper-up to flow down to her toes and allowed her shoulders to drop lower as the calming draught started to take effect. _Harry wouldn’t ask me to do this unless he felt I had to_, she thought and she relaxed her tense back muscles. She took a deep breath and then forced her eyes open.

“Alright fine,” she spoke quietly, now beginning to feel the effects of the calming draught on her nerves. “Let’s get this done and get out of here.”

Harry nodded firmly before turning back to face the locket and preparing to open it. Hermione instinctively raised the sword up to waist height, preparing herself to strike the object. She bit down the pain in her shoulders and chest and tried to steady her hands as they trembled under the weight of the blade. If not for the calming draught her heart would be pounding right now – Hermione was no doctor, but she knew that allowing her heart to race out of control after it had only _just_ been restarted after it had been… well… dead, un-beating, whatever you might call it, was definitely not medically recommended. _In fact, it would probably be frowned upon_ , she thought as she held her stance, glad that Harry had clearly thought ahead.

“Make sure to stab it quickly,” Harry said as his hands held the locket poised to open and he looked over his shoulder at her. His jaw was tight with concern and she knew he was nervous for her. “Whatever is in here will attack – the Tom Riddle in the diary tried to kill me in the Chamber of Secrets, and this thing has already gone after you once – so don’t hesitate. You ready?”

Hermione nodded once firmly, the quiet of the forest was ringing in her ears and making her hands tremble further. She felt light-headed and sore but forced her bloodshot eyes to focus on the golden locket in Harry hands. Her heart, while still controlled, began to beat more quickly in her chest as she heard Harry speaking in Parseltongue – then the locket popped open with a click to reveal a handsome eye, it must have been Tom Riddle’s from before it turned haunted and red. Hermione raised the sword to strike taking a step forward to close the distance and bring the sword up before aiming to thrash it down in one clean strike – but she froze as black grotesque bubbles poured from the locket and a terrifying voice echoed around them and shook her to her very soul. A shiver ran down her spine as terror hit her at her core and she heard the words the locket spoke.

 _I have seen your dreams Hermione Granger, and I have seen your fears. All you desire will not come to pass – what you dread will be your truth_. _A mudblood, so desperate to belong – discarded by her own disgusting muggle-kind yet unwelcomed by the magical – you don’t belong anywhere. Abomination! So desperate to prove herself, to show her worth. Pathetic – so eager to prove that you deserve your magic._ _But you don’t – you know you don’t. You’ve failed, just like how you were always going to fail!_

The disgusting black bubbles poured out more quickly and began to take shape, Hermione’s eyes widened as she saw the twisted and disturbing figures of her parents standing before her.

 _Your parents are lost_ , the voice was cruel and cutting. She could feel it beneath her skin, rippling in her chest and creeping up the base of her neck. _You weren’t able to save them – I’ve taken them, YOU’VE FAILED!_

The voice cackled in madness, echoing around the forest, surrounding her, suffocating her as she heard the desperate voices of her parents’ pleas for help. Her heart filled with dread as she saw her parents anguished expressions of pain and hatred.

 _How could you leave us Hermione! You left us, you betrayed our trust, you failed us!_ The voices continued and became intermingled with screams of terror as more voices joined in. She heard Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore, Ginny and countless others as they bore into her mind asking her why she failed, telling her that she betrayed their trust, calling her mudblood – telling her that she did not belong, that she did not deserve her magic. They screamed that she wasn’t worthy, she never had been. She could feel her mind being consumed. Her breath came in quick short rasps, her heart was thudding at an alarming rate. She was consumed with doubt and her worst fears – her vision blurred as the disgusting black goo morphed into Harry. He was on his knees gasping for breath as the voices continued to chant behind her calling out her every flaw, her every mistake and playing to every insecurity she had buried deep within herself. There was a gaping hole in Harry’s chest and his eyes were glassy as they stared up at her in desperation. _Hermione,_ the form of Harry choked out as the figure clutched the bloody gaping hole at its chest. _You’ve failed, you’ve failed, you’ve failed me_. Her blood ran cold as her chest constricted in agony as her heart raced further. Her mind was lost to the chanting that surrounded the forest, the edges of her vision faded as she watched Harry die before her – she had failed him, and he had died.

Hermione gasped for breath as it felt like her chest was going to explode in agony – then a warm, strong and desperate voice filled her ears, cutting through the death and coldness of the locket that had surrounded her.

“HERMIONE! KILL IT!” Harry screamed. The real Harry, not the disgusted and disfigured form before her. “KILL IT NOW! YOU CAN DO THIS!”

Hermione clenched her jaw as her hands tightened around the hilt of the sword. She forced her mind to focus on the real Harry’s voice which continued to call to her and she forced the repulsive chanting of the bodiless voices echoing from the locket out of her head. She ripped her eyes from the locket to look at Harry who was half laying on the ground fighting to hold the locket steady as the black goo poured out of it, he was looking up at her determinedly. He was very much _alive._ He was fierce, bright, strong and looked at her with so much emotion it made her soul ache and her mouth open as she forced air into her unbreathing lungs in a deep and painful cry.

She rounded on the locket, her hair wild as it blew in the wind that had picked up around them, her bloodshot eyes burned as she stared down at the disgusting trinket. Her heart thudded as her nerves turned to stone.

“You _won’t_ win!” she snarled at the locket with raw, unrestrained rage. She forced her legs to move the last step toward it. It felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each as she slid them forward and fought against the sheer force of the locket. “It’s _over_! You can’t defeat us–“

She felt a strong push against her body by some unseen force as the chanting voices grew louder and the words ‘ _Dirty USELESS Mudblood’_ began to scream in her ears. She gritted her teeth and raised the sword.

“ _FUCK_ _YOU_!” she screamed as she swung the sword up violently and then brought it crashing down in one hard motion that used every fiber of her being.

The sword cut through the black goo figures and made contact with the locket. She felt a ripple in the air as the voices were silenced and a bright red flash cut through her vision as a loud crack erupted. Hermione fell back as a wave of energy dispelled from the locket, the sword was still gripped tightly in her hands as she slid several feet back on the ice. She raised herself up on her elbows to look at the locket once she skidded to a stop – it was cracked, motionless and split into three pieces. Harry had jumped out of the way of her swing and was laying in the snow to the right of the rock and eyeing the locket as nervously as she was. Then he looked over to her and their eyes locked. Harry pulled himself to his feet so quickly she almost didn’t see the motions. He ran across the ice, his feet slipping slightly until he reached her and fell to his knees beside her – grabbing her arms to pull her up into a sitting position and clutching her to his chest.

“Hermione,” he said into her wild and curly hair as he clutched her tightly. “Hermione you were incredible – incredible – are you okay?” He pulled away from her and began running his hands over her body looking for injury and tracing the lines of her face.

“Yes,” she said somewhat weakly as she dropped the sword and grabbed both sides of face. “Harry, I’m okay.”

Harry was looking at her so intensely it made her poor weak heart flutter. She leaned into him when he bent his head to kiss her fiercely. They sat on the cold ice, Harry’s hand tangled in her hair and his arm wrapped tightly around her as his lips traced over hers desperately – like he was afraid if he stopped, she’d disappear. Finally, they parted, and she leaned her forehead against his gently, chest heaving as she breathed in the cold air.

“Let’s get out of here Harry, please,” she asked as she shivered against him. She wanted to bury the remains of that cursed locket somewhere deep within her purse until they were able to truly dispose of it. But mostly, she wanted to go somewhere safe, to crawl back into Harry’s bunk and be wrapped in his warm arms and held tightly against his chest. She could feel her body beginning to fail her as the adrenaline started to leave her system. There wasn’t enough calming draught in the world to stop the gentle twitch of her arm or the ragged breathing that escaped her lungs. She needed to rest before she passed out.

“Absolutely,” Harry whispered against her face.

Harry stood quickly and gathered the remains of the locket and picked up the sword, stored them both efficiently in her purse and then came to kneel beside her once again. Hermione had remained sitting rather limply on the ice while she watched Harry collect everything up. A small part of her thought about helping, she felt guilty that she remained sprawled on the cold ice while Harry gathered everything up – but her exhausted body was simply not having it, she wasn’t sure she would be able to stand on her own at this point so she remained in her dishevelled state until Harry returned. He grabbed her hand tightly and wrapped his arm firmly around her waist.

“I knew you could do it,” he spoke softly before he apparated them away.

Hermione smile against him, closing her eyes as exhaustion overtook her. She sighed in relief when she felt the familiar tug behind her navel from the apparition and she knew that they were safe. They had the sword, they had destroyed a Horcrux and she had Harry. _We’ll be okay_ , she thought as the world distorted around her.

-x-x-

They landed in the South of England near the West shoreline. Harry cast several detection spells to ensure that they were safe before he left Hermione sitting in the snow, gave her their jar of blue flames to hold and proceeded to set up the tent. Once the tent was erected, Harry helped Hermione up and into the tent, she winced as all the muscles in her body screamed at her movement. _No exercise tomorrow,_ she thought with a tight smile. _I’m going to sleep in_. Harry left Hermione to shower, knowing that the warm water would help ease her strained muscles and warm her up. Then he left the tent to go set the alarms, detections and wards.

Hermione groaned in pleasure and pain as the hot water sprayed at her back – it felt like a thousand little needles poking at her freezing skin, but yet she could feel her muscles loosening up with from the heat. She dropped her head against the shower wall and shivered when the last remains of cold which had been settled deep within her bones finally left her body. She forced her arms to move, washing over her skin and detangling the mess of hair that hung from her head. Her movements were slow, and her eyes remained heavily hooded. Once she was thoroughly clean and warm she turned off the shower wandlessly and put on the thickest fuzziest socks she had, a warm long-sleeved sweater and plaid pajama pants. Harry was still out setting wards as she climbed into his bunk. When she heard his apparition pop near the tent she knew that he must be setting the final wards. She had no doubt that he had set extras tonight, as he was likely planning to come to bed too – they both desperately needed the rest.

She had just rolled onto to her back when harry walked through the door. His hair was dishevelled from the wind and his cheeks tinted pink from the cold. He immediately walked over to Hermione and kissed her head quickly before murmuring softly that he was going to go take a shower to warm up. She tried to stay awake for him, to wait for him to come join her in bed, but the ache across her chest was heavy and her limbs felt like they had been weighted down with lead. Her eyes wouldn’t allow her to stay awake any longer and she had dozed off listening to the calming sound of water flowing. She stirred slightly when she felt the bed move beside her and she registered the feeling of Harry's strong arm wrapping across her chest as he rolled on his side into her. His fresh clean scent enveloped her thoughts before she drifted off completely.

-x-x-

True to her word, Hermione slept in the next day and so did Harry – neither one of them being able to pull themselves from bed until well after 10:30 am, which was late considering their usual 7 am wake up time. Thankfully, Hermione didn’t have any dreams or nightmares about being trapped underwater or being strangled to death, though she knew that this was likely a result of the calming draught that Harry had given her and that the nightmares could still come later. So, when Hermione woke she laid quietly in Harry’s arms, enjoying the calm and warmth until her stomach growled and she forced herself to slip from bed and make them both breakfast. Harry had woken to the smell of toast and eggs and groggily came to join her at the table after throwing on the kettle for tea.

In Harry’s words: ‘ _sometimes, you need to stop and celebrate the things you’ve accomplished – to allow yourself a moment to enjoy your victory, no matter how small’._ So, they both agreed to take the day _off_ from their training and spend the day relaxing, healing, and celebrating the victory of destroying the Horcrux and obtaining the Gryffindor sword. For the first time in months they now had a weapon capable of destroying the damned things – so the idea of locating the Horcruxes somehow seemed less daunting. Having the sword in their possession was reassuring, made it feel like the last few months weren’t a waste of time and added the motivation that they needed to keep moving forward. At lunchtime they broke out the last cakes that Hermione had in her purse and ate them with tea. They packaged the remains of the Horcrux up into a small box to store deep within the depths of Hermione’s purse with plans to properly dispose of the pieces later, and they grinned in triumph at each other when they unceremoniously lowered the box to the bottom of her bag. The remainder of the day was spent examining the sword of Gryffindor, lounging around the tent, napping, and reading while curled up next to each other on the couch. Harry let his arm drape lazily over Hermione’s shoulders while she leaned back into his chest, covered them both with a throw blanket and continued to read up on potion brewing in unconventional locations. It was the most comfortable and relaxed day they had had since… well since before Dumbledore died.

During dinner Hermione and Harry discussed going to visit Xenophilius Lovegood to ask him about the necklace he wore to the wedding and to see if he knew anything about it being Grindelwald’s symbol. They both agreed that they would need to go as it was the only logical next step to the puzzle that Dumbledore had left for them – the only question on the table was _when_ to go. They were both extremely hesitant to leave any time soon. If the last few months had taught them anything it was that despite being prepared, they never seemed to be prepared enough. No matter how strong they became or how much they seemed to grow, somehow life just kept demanding more from them, always asking them to complete things that were just out of their reach. There had simply been far too many close calls to allow themselves to jump into anything else without first _trying_ to be _more_ prepared. _Especially now¸_ Hermione thought as she watched Harry clean up the table and bring the dishes to the kitchen. She watched his lean shoulders move as he cleaned the plates and stacked them back in the cupboards. She wasn’t able to prevent a small blush from forming on her cheeks as she watched his strong form move about with ease. She had only just managed to come to terms with her own feelings for Harry – to allow herself to admit that she cared for him and to make it real. She was not willing to put him at risk or threaten the new relationship that they had just started. This war was dangerous, violent, and would take everything from them if they didn’t take it seriously. They needed to double down on their efforts and be prepared.

After dinner Hermione reviewed her potion supplies – they were low. They needed more blood replenisher, more salve, more dittany, more calming draught, more pepper-up and more of just about every single thing she had prepared and collected for their journey. Hermione also resolved to get her hands on some antivenom for Nagini – given what had happened in Godric’s Hollow, they needed to be prepared in case they ran into her again. That snake would kill them both if it had the chance and they wouldn’t last more than a few hours without the antivenom if they were bitten. Hermione remembered what had happened to Mr. Weasley when he was bitten in the Department of Mysteries – his wounds wouldn’t close by magic or by stitches. The dittany they had poured over the bites might as well have been water as it did absolutely nothing to help, and the stitches they attempted to use to close the wound dissolved almost instantly. As a result, he kept bleeding out and required blood replenishing potion every hour until they had discovered the antivenom. Mr. Weasley had been at St. Mungo’s at the time though and they had resources, materials, potions and ample blood replenishers that Hermione could not dream to have while in the middle of nowhere hunting Horcruxes. She would never be able to brew enough blood replenisher or afford to buy enough to keep them alive if they got bit. They needed the antivenom, there was no other way around it.

During their evening tea Hermione gave Harry a rundown on their potion situation and he agreed with her recommendation that they should not be knowingly approaching the Lovegood’s or anyone else for that matter until their potion and healing supplies had been properly restocked. With that settled, Hermione revised their daily schedule to include potion brewing and ingredients harvesting – which in and of itself would be a dangerous feat. Some materials they would be able to gather on their own from forests and various locations around England, while others would need to be purchased from an apothecary or stolen – Hermione frowned at the thought.

It was after their discussion on potions and towards the end of their evening tea that Harry finally decided to broach the subject of occlumency. He felt awkward bringing it up, which he _knew_ was stupid because he _knew_ that Hermione had be holding back on approaching the subject herself – it wasn’t going to be surprising for him to talk about it after Godric’s Hollow. Though he was relieved and thankful when she handled the topic with care. She didn’t lecture him when he admitted that he was foolish to not take his lessons with Snape more seriously in 5th year – that he had missed out on a chance to learn the skill from a master occlumens because of his own hatred of the man. She didn’t chastise of scold him and instead simply nodded and resolved to help him and practice with him the best that she could.

Over the next week Hermione and Harry set their plan into motion. Each day they got up with purpose, completed their exercises, duelled, practiced casting wandless and wordless spells, gathered nearby potion ingredients, studied healing spells, and meditated and practiced occlumency. Outside of their joint routine tasks Harry took lead on researching and experimenting with ways to make their shield charm more resistant to physical blows, while Hermione took the lead on replacing their potion stock. She made a list of all the potion ingredients they would need, brewing durations so they could time their movements with the completion of potions, and she began setting up a brewing station inside the tent. 

It took Hermione two days to finish reading her book on brewing potions in unorthodox places, learn the spells required to seal the work area and draw up plans for how to set-up the station within the tent such that each item wouldn’t need to be packed away individually when they moved. She was able to figure out how to charm the cauldrons and workbench area with a sticking charm and encase the area in an explosion proof shield that would prevent any mishaps from spreading through the tent. By cutting a small hole in the fabric of the tent she was also able to vent the workspace and keep any scents or fumes from the potions contained within the work area. By using a stasis spell, she would be able to freeze any brewing potions in place if they needed to pack up quickly. Though she had no intention of ever packing up the tent while something was brewing – it was good to know that she could do it if she had to do it, and that she could do it without burning down everything inside the tent. Harry also seemed to be pleased with this knowledge when she presented her plans to him to get his input. There was also something definitely comforting knowing that you wouldn’t be waking up in a burning tent because something that was simmering through the night had caught fire.

She spent the remainder of the week setting up the potion station. She transfigured Ron’s bunk into a workbench and one of the kitchen chairs into a stool. Neither Hermione nor Harry talked about the fact that she had just for all intents and purposes removed Ron’s bed from the tent. Though unspoken, they both knew that neither one of them was expecting him to return and they decided to ignore the implications of ‘cutting’ him from the tent – they both just continued with their practicing and research, focusing on their task. By the end of the week Hermione had the workbench and cauldrons set-up, the vent stack working and all the protective charms in place. Her comprehensive list of the potion ingredients that they had and the ones that they still needed was now cross-referenced with their map of England and she had identified the locations they needed to go to get everything.

With only the small amount of dittany that she had left stored in her supplies she would only be able to make two small batches of blood replenishing potion and one small batch of essence of dittany for wound use. Normally this would be a decent amount for her personal usage but given how the last few months had gone she was nervous that it wouldn’t be enough if things were to escalate to a full-fledged war. She wanted to have at least a dozen blood replenishing potions, three bottles of dittany and several more bottles of calming draught and pepper-up potion – so she needed to find a way to get her hands on more dittany, somehow. Dittany was both rare and expensive, she highly doubted that they would stumble upon it randomly in a forest somewhere, so this meant that they needed to go to an apothecary to purchase some. Otherwise, most of the other ingredients she needed could be collected free of charge by apparating around the countyside.

In the meantime, while they gathered ingredients, Hermione planned to brew what she could. Thankfully, Hermione had packed the crocodile hearts she had purchased on sale in Diagon Alley in her potion kit. At the time Harry and Ron had stared at her like she crazy for getting excited and bounding into the apothecary which was selling the hearts for ‘ _Can you believe this guys! Look at these ridiculously cheap prices!’._ She never intended to brew during their hunt, but now thanks to her constant need to be prepared she would be able to make several new batches of calming draught to keep on hand. She was also able to start a single new batch of pepper up potion. The item that was left completely blank on her list was 'Nagini antivenom' – for which she had no idea where to start.

Despite her vast knowledge on potions for someone her age, and her extensive efforts researching Hermione felt incredibly underinformed and completely out of her comfort zone when it came to antivenoms. They were usually rare and complex, so most potions masters stayed away from them – while some antivenoms didn’t even require a potion. Some were just a single herb or a combination of plants that occurred naturally in nature that you could pick from the ground and use immediately. Others were bizarrely complex potions that required a sample of the venom and a sample of the victim’s blood to create the neutralizer. Others had to be prepared in advance while a few had to be prepared after the victim was bleeding. There were documented cases of antivenoms being as simple as a dandelion leaf and other times where the venom took 3 months to prepare and had a shelf life of only 24 hours.

What made matters worse was that Nagini was not a normal snake being controlled by _you know who_ , it wasn’t like Hermione could bust into a muggle hospital and get the antivenom for Vipera Berus or a Copperhead for Merlin’s sake. Nagini was clearly a magical creature of some sort. And while Hermione could not confirm it, she had her suspicions that Nagini was either a cursed Russell’s Viper based on her appearance, or the more likely option she was a Maledictus – someone permanently turned into a beast due to a blood curse. She doubted anyone would know for certain save for _you know who_ himself, and she wasn’t about to try and ask or figure that one out.

The only thing that kept her panic and anxiety at bay was knowing that Mr. Weasley had beaten the venom before. He had found the antivenom, used it and was alive and well – proving that the cure worked. The only thing she needed to do was either break into St. Mungo’s and see if they had any antivenom on hand that they could _borrow_ , or she needed to find Arthur Weasley and speak with him to get the antivenom recipe. Either way the process would be risky. It was possible that St. Mungo’s was being watched by _you know who_ already or that it was already being run by him. While locating Arthur would be relatively easier than breaking into St. Mungo’s it would put him and his family and possibly even the remaining members of the Order at risk. Based on the updates they were getting from Phineas, it was clear that whatever was left of the Order of the Phoenix was being kept top secret and that the members were operating in the shadows – trying to fight the war quietly without drawing attention to themselves or getting their families killed. At this point the ministry was all but taken over and their secrecy would be critical to their overall success. If they pushed too much too soon or did anything too dramatic _you know who_ and his followers would bring the war to their doorstep before the Order was ready for it – and since no one else knew about the Horcruxes, the results would be devastating. _You know who_ can’t be killed, not until the Horcruxes are gone. So, they needed to keep the war at bay for as long as possible to avoid unnecessary loss of life while Hermione and Harry tried to locate and destroy the final remaining Horcruxes.

Hermione worked hard over the next few weeks, training with Harry and brewing the potions that she could with the ingredients that she had on hand and what they could collect from their apparating trips around the country side. Each time a potion was completed she felt a tiny thread of her anxiety fall away and a small comfort in her chest surge. Having these potions was like having a lifeline and dammit she would create as many lifelines as she could – she would _not_ let them fail. If she had to brew all night, creep into the deepest and darkest crevices of the forest to get an ingredient they needed or wrestle a salamander out of a skunk’s mouth as she had in Surrey – she would. She would push herself to the edge if that’s what it took to ensure that Harry was safe and that their mission was a success. Skunk smell or no, Hermione was on a mission and she would not let anything stop her.

So, as she brewed and collected ingredients she thought, and as she thought she planned. There was no doubt in her mind that going to St. Mungo’s was out of the question. It was simply too dangerous, and they had no connections there to help them get into the secure facility. One high profile break-in was enough for her lifetime. While their adventure at the Ministry had been successful, it had also gone somewhat poorly and cost them time, energy, resources and Ron. She also had no doubt in her mind that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were being watched closely, and she did not want to put them in danger no matter how irritated she may have been with their idiot son. She still loved Molly and Arthur dearly – and she did not want to hurt them.

They needed to come up with a plan to get in contact with Arthur privately, without it being noticed by anyone – even Molly. They also needed a way for him to be able to communicate back to them so he could give them the antivenom recipe, but it needed to be discrete. Going to the Ministry to see him would be suicide, going to the Burrow would be dangerous for the family, owls were too obvious and were being monitored, the Floo network was out of the question and a Patronus could be intercepted or dispelled. They either needed to intercept him somewhere or find another way to contact him, it had been the topic of discussion over the last few evenings.

The night was quiet while she stirred the cauldron of the last batch of blood replenishing potion she was able to make until she got more dittany. Harry was outside completing some additional wandless magic practice, trying to use up the last few moments of sunlight that they had left the early darkness of winter set in. She knew that he would make dinner while she finished up the potion, he always made dinner when she was brewing. Hermione looked down at the workbench as her hand turned the stir stick by muscle memory, allowing her mind to run blank as her eyes skimmed over the different tools and remaining chopped bits that were covering the surface. She would be able to clean everything up and have the potion bottled before Harry had dinner ready. Her eyes slowed when they skimmed over her research notebook which was filled with jotted notes, diagrams and plans, and they halted completely when they noticed the small round silver ink cap that rested on the open page.

Her eyes widened and her heart leapt as the idea hit her. _Of course!_ She thought as she quickly finished stirring the potion while her mind raced a mile a minute to formulate her new plan. _The answer is obvious I cannot believe I didn’t think of it right away_. She grinned as she wandlessly and wordlessly summoned two clean bottles and stoppers from her purse. She began to pour the potion into the bottles, using her wandless magic to steady the flow and conserve each drop of the replenishing potion for future use. She glanced at the tent door as the wind outside picked up and the tent around her fluttered. She couldn’t stop the smile on her lips as Harry walked into the tent covered in snow but grinning widely at her, it looked like he had had a good practice. She grinned even wider and opened her mouth to call him over, she was going to tell Harry _exactly_ how they were going to communicate with Mr. Weasley.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Practice, a plan, and smut as Hermione and Harry continue to grow closer and stronger together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sorry for the delay on this one, my bizarre week has continued. I promise I am still here though and still writing!  
> 2\. Someone mentioned they wanted more of the HH relationship development, so I added some more interaction between them in this chapter and of course some… smut. In my own words, I say: “let there be smut!!” Enjoy ;)  
> 3\. Comments and feedback are always appreciated :) And as always, thank you for reading!
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Updates on Sunday +/- a few days.

**Warnings:**

This chapter contains: explicit smut (which can be skipped without missing out on main plot)

******************************************

Harry stood firm in front of his newest unsuspecting victim, a strong weathered oak branch that he had found on the forest floor about 25 feet away from the tent. It stretched an impressive 4 feet long and was a hefty 10 inches in diameter – a prime target for his practice. The tall looming trees around him rustled as he stared the branch down through squinted eyes, feet planted wide in a defensive position, knees slightly bent in anticipation of a counter-attack. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind, using his newly developed occlumency skills from hours and hours of practice to empty his head and focus his attention on the spell that he was about to cast at his new opponent.

He’d mastered casting _diffindo_ wordlessly and wandlessly a week ago and had started working on his _sectumsempra_ – hoping to be able to add it to his ever-growing arsenal. Hermione was already able to make large gashes wordlessly and wandlessly, but she had always been better at wandless and wordless magic. Her concentration, focus, attention to detail and ability to control her mind made her a formidable witch who learned quicker than anyone. Harry however had only been able to manage small scratches so far – but he was determined to change that today.

Letting out his breath he let the last thoughts that had been lingering in his mind float away and he dropped his shoulders in relaxation as he closed his eyes lightly. _This_ was the missing piece of the puzzle, the one that he had been without during all his previous endeavours to learn wandless and wordless magic, and the one that would have helped him infinitely during his occlumency training with Snape in the past – the feeling of _peace_ and _ease_ within one’s own mind. Hermione had located and pulled out an old and battered book from her purse of wonders that discussed learning occlumency from a different perspective – a perspective that turned out to be very similar to the meditation that Hermione had been practicing for years. Hermione had explained that she found the book on the dusty back shelves of the second-hand book store in Diagon Alley and picked it up for ‘ _light bedtime reading’_ after she learned about occlumency in fifth year. The book was old and not overly popular when it was originally printed, not only because occlumency was difficult to start with and many witches and wizards struggled to become skilled in its practice – but also because its take on occlumency was unorthodox. So there were hardly any volumes available. Hermione had been very pleased when she located the book on that hot summer day.

While the book agreed that the main point of occlumency was indeed to be on the defensive and protect your mind from intruders, it advocated that this could be accomplished through obtaining peace and ease within your own mind and thus ‘ _gaining true control of one’s self and emotions_ ’ instead of only taking a fighting and aggressive approach that most other books seemed to promote. Typically occlumency was joined at the hip with teaching people to compartmentalize their emotions, put up walls, and protect and block intruders from gaining access to their mind. While this book did cover the importance of creating shields and barriers within your mind – as these are indeed important aspects of occlumency which are required – it also maintained the opinion that if you meditated and could reach a point of peace where you ‘ _let go of yourself, your worldly views and attachments’_ you could truly empty your head, void yourself of accessing any memories or information and thus make it more difficult for other people to access your mind. By combining this approach with standard compartmentalizing techniques and barriers within your mind you would be more effective at occlumency because you were truly detached from yourself, not just hiding the information in your brain – or so the book said.

While neither Harry nor Hermione had any true experience with occlumency to test the theory of the book, and they didn’t exactly have a teacher that they could ask about the books’ approach to see if it was legitimate – they could not deny that the meditation and detachment exercises were helping them profoundly in every other area of their training. So, they both agreed to continue with the practice regardless of whether or not it actually helped them with occlumency. Since neither one of them was a practiced legilimens they did not dare try to breach each other’s mind to test their progress. Legilimency was dangerous if done poorly or incorrectly – minds are a careful and fragile thing and they were both smart enough to know that you don’t go rooting around in someone’s mind unless you know how to. There were countless documented cases of where legilimency was used by untrained or uncaring people that resulted in their victims losing memories, becoming insane or suffering from ongoing headaches and spotted vision for the rest of their lives. So, they practiced the techniques together every morning but never tested their progress.

For a brief moment Harry felt light and detached from his body, almost as if in a trance. His mind felt crystal clear, like he was standing on the top of a clear glass lake – so clear that the sky was reflected in the water and you couldn’t tell where the lake ended and the sky began, just thick fluffy clouds floating above and below him with no end in sight. Then he opened his eyes quickly and cast the spell. He didn’t yell the word in his head, instead just thinking it with a clear, calm, direct and firm intent. With a loud crack the thick oak branch broke into three uneven pieces before him.

"YES!" Harry yelled as his head fell back and he dropped to his knees in the snow. “Fuck yes!”

A huge grin split across his face. After a month of relentless, challenging and draining practice they had made so much progress – but this was always out of his grasp, until now. Harry could feel the triumph and warmth flow through his body as he dropped his eyes back onto the now broken branch. _I did that,_ he thought as he continued to grin at the broken pieces before he tugged himself back up to his feet. _God this feels good, this has made all that practice worth it_.

The wind picked up around him as he brushed the snow from his knees, it ruffled his long black hair and cooled the back of his exposed neck. He had thought to ask Hermione to cut it again as it had grown almost past his shoulders. His hair had always grown quickly and sometimes it felt like it had a mind of its own – as it had recently noticed that no one was paying attention to it so it decided to grow even quicker and more dishevelled than usual, taking its new-found freedom to heart somewhat like a teenager being set on the loose for the first time and becoming uncontrolled. Harry snorted at the thought, it wouldn’t surprise him if he woke up tomorrow and it had grown another inch. But if he was being honest, he just didn’t care – it was warmer with longer hair and it was at the bottom of his priority list at the moment, so he had forgotten to bother with it. Though, if he let it get much longer, he would need to put it in a ponytail to keep it out of his face. Harry laughed outwardly at that. Between him and Hermione there was a ridiculous amount of hair in the tent and some nights sleeping next to Hermione felt like having two rather large messy birds’ nests on his pillow.

Harry turned toward the tent with his mind now on Hermione, which only caused him to smile again. Things between them over the last month had been great – they were a wonderful team and they had been working and training well together. Hermione had made progress with her examination of the golden bracelets and had successfully brewed several potions. Harry had helped with some ingredient prep and brewing but he mostly spent his solo time working on the shield charm. It had been going really well, yesterday he thought he finally found a way to make the shield resistant to physical blows, but it seemed like it would reduce their shield time dramatically. Though he only practiced it once and he still needed Hermione to test his theory – since it was impossible to actually test the shield against physical blows himself while he was _in_ the shield. He hoped that they could do that tomorrow, except he needed a better testing mechanism than having Hermione throw a rock at him – they needed to try and recreate a bite force comparable to Nagini or a werewolf as these were the most likely physical blows that they would sustain in battle. He had a few ideas he planned to run by her.

Running a hand through his messy locks Harry walked toward the tent, dinner tonight would probably be some veggies and a pot pie because for some reason he seemed far better at making pot pies than any other food. Harry brushed the last bit of snow off his pants before he ducked into the tent and looked over to Hermione’s work station – of _the_ lab as they now called it – she was looking over her shoulder at him with a huge grin. Her hair was a mess, it had obviously been in a ponytail at some point, but now long curly tendrils leaked down her back and stuck out at odd angles. There was a sheen of sweat across her forehead from working in the small shielded potion workspace – it always got _way_ too warm in there with the cauldrons going, and she had evidently decided it was too hot for formalities as well because she had stripped down to a loose-fitting dark blue tank top that flowed gently along her curves. The oversized arm holes showed the sides of her black bra and her top-most scar peeked out of the neckline. He suspected that this must be one of her exercise shirts – perhaps even a transfigured tank as it was not something she would typically wear out in public, but Harry had no complaints. Between the tank top, the warm flush on her face and her rather tight-fitting black shorts he couldn’t stop his brain from wandering.

"Merlin you’re beautiful," the words fell from his lips before he could stop them.

She had been opening her mouth to say something – no doubt from the grin on her face when he entered the tent she had had a productive day and was planning to share some good news. But at his words she faltered and left her mouth hanging open slightly as the blush on her cheeks deepened. She glanced down at her outfit, and the pink blush crept down her neck as she seemed to realize what she was wearing. While Hermione had stood somewhat flustered Harry had quickly shucked off his jacket and boots before their eyes locked again. She truly was the most beautiful person he’d ever laid eyes on – she always had been, but ever since the Forest of Dean Harry couldn't stop looking at her with a small amount of awe and appreciation. She had become so strong, somehow even more capable than she was before and her growing confidence in her own abilities suited her well. It shone out of her and it felt like his own personal little beacon of hope that fired his motivation.

“Don’t be ridiculous Harry – I’m a mess, I’ve been brewing in here for hours” she laughed gently as she set down the freshly bottled potion she had been holding and grinned up at him shyly.

Closing the distance between them in a few quick steps Harry passed through the barrier into the potions lab and grabbed Hermione by the waist, pulling her tight against him.

“And I love it when you’re a dishevelled mess,” he grinned at her as she scrunched her face at him.

Despite the awful heat of the small enclosed space he pulled her tighter to him before capturing her lips and kissing her deeply. They hadn't been _together_ since Christmas – there had been some snogging, some snuggling and one night with a rather intense session of grinding, but nothing else comparable to their night in the Forest of Dean had happened between them since. After the incident with the ice pond they had both naturally become more sober, somber, and refocused on their Horcrux hunt and training efforts. Everything they had been doing was scheduled, purposeful and focused. While a part of Harry desperately wanted more every day, every time he kissed her and every time he saw her smile – he didn’t regret that nothing else had happened between them yet. They _needed_ to be focused on their mission. They _had_ to be – and he had made a mental promise to prove to Hermione that they could be together _and_ remain focused on their task at hand. After all, that had been one of her greatest concerns about acknowledging a relationship between them during a war, so Harry resolved to stay focused no matter what his prick might think. Besides, their last night in the Forest of Dean had been a blunt and brutal wakeup call from their single night of bliss – it was a rude welcome back to the reality of what they were tasked with. There would be time to be intimate again later, they would make time, but right now they needed to focus their attention and time on the mission so that they could feel back on track and like they were making progress.

Hermione groaned under Harry's lips, pushing herself up against him as her hand gripped the belt on his waist.

 _Or,_ Harry thought mischievously as he gently pressed Hermione back into the potion workbench, _maybe we can make that time now_.

“Harry – I wanted to tell you – my – idea,” Hermione breathed between each kiss as Harry’s hand slid up her back to tangle in her mess of curls.

“Mhmm,” Harry murmured as he turned his head to kiss her more deeply and nibble her bottom lip.

“Mmaaahh – it’s – it’s to get the antivenom recipe,” she gripped his belt tighter and grabbed at the front of his shirt. Her hips were pinned between his and the bench and he had started to gently move against her.

“Mmm – that _is_ important,” Harry breathed as he pulled his lips away to look down at her, despite the desperate need of his body he did not want to stop her from relaying something important. Her eyes were half-lidded and glazed over, and she was still gripping him tightly as if to pull him back to their kiss before he spoke again. “What was your idea?”

Hermione searched his face, her eyes flicking over his, lingering on his lips before they flicked back up to meet his. Her frustration with the halting of his movements was apparent as her eyebrows creased slightly and she pushed gently against him.

“Harry you can’t be serious,” she breathed heavily against him, a slight laugh gracing her lips as she dropped her head with a thud against his chest. He could feel every part of her against him and there was no doubt in his mind that she could feel his hardness against her hip. “Ugghhhh – you come in here like that – kiss me like that – then want to hear my idea?”

“Well – I mean I had other ideas, but the antivenom is important,” Harry grinned at her and squeezed her side gently when she raised her head back up to look up at him in disbelief. He couldn’t stop the small chuckle that escaped him at her frustrated expression. Apparently, she was also craving some physical intimacy, but had been keeping her desires at bay to stay focused on their mission.

“It is, but I can tell you the details later – the long and short of it is that I came up with a plan to contact Mr. Weasley using a triple _protean charm_ combined with _disguising, protective_ and _cryptography_ spells I read about last summer.” The words poured from Hermione’s mouth quickly and Harry could not prevent his eyebrows from raising.

“Of course you did,” he said with an amused smile as she pulled him closer to her. “And I suppose it’s an _easy_ solution that was _rather obvious_ too?”

“Oh shut up – of course it was,” Hermione rolled her eyes at his teasing before she kissed him again. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

“Good,” Harry murmured back against her lips as he pushed his hips into hers once more to bring forth a small groan from her lips. “Because there was something else I wanted to try first.”

-x-x-

Hermione’s heart fluttered as Harry’s hand tangled deeper into her hair and his mouth moved slowly against hers. It felt like ages since the last time they had kissed like _this_ and she had missed it. They had become so focused on their mission – which wasn’t a bad thing – that they hadn’t made any time to be together since the Forest of Dean. But with the last of the potions that she could develop before collecting more ingredients made, they could spare some time tonight to be together before they ventured back into more dangerous situations to collect the remainder of what they needed. Right now, she would let herself forget where they were and just dissolve into Harry’s arms. She wasn’t planning to start the work on contacting Mr. Weasley until tomorrow anyway, so their night was wide open.

Harry pushed against her more firmly, his hard length pressing into her hip made her stomach roll in anticipation as he ground against her. She moaned when he nibbled at her lip and dropped his mouth to her neck, tracing long and painfully tantalizing kissed along its length. She breathed against his ear and wrapped her arms around him to grab the back of his shirt, desperate to lose the little distance between them.

“Harry, let’s get out of this lab,”

With a grunt of agreement Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the lab toward what they had recently began calling _their_ bunk. Within seconds his hands were back on her as he lowered her back down on to the bed, she pulled him forward with her, spreading her legs so that he could lay between them on top of her. It was incredible how natural it felt to have him there, laying between her legs with his weight pressing down on top of her. It felt safe, warm and secure and his gentle movements against her core made that familiar little coil begin to tighten. She wound her hand into his hair as his tongue entered her mouth – _His hair is getting ridiculously long_ , she thought before another moan poured out of her lips. She brought her other hand down to grab his belt at his hips and pressed down against him as she thrust her hips up into him and smiled when a low growl escaped him.

“Fuck Hermione,” he breathed against her before he brought his lips to her neck again. “You feel so incredible.”

She watched as Harry moved his way down her body, kissing along her neck, pushing her loose tank top up to expose her chest and continuing his way down her stomach until he reached her hips. The thought of her scars didn’t even cross her mind as he went, her focus was entirely captured by the feel of his lips tracing their way over her skin with each movement downwards. When he reached her hips, he stopped and looked up at her, she nodded back down at him – knowing that he was waiting for her approval to continue. She gripped the sheets on either side of her tightly. Even though they had already had sex once, she still felt a bit nervous. They had only done it once, and the last time Harry had removed her pants his face wasn’t _right_ there. She couldn’t help but feel a jolt of electricity chase through her nerves at the thought of what this _thing_ was he wanted to try. _I wonder if he’s planning to use his mouth_ , she thought as Harry carefully removed her shorts and knickers. She could feel a blush cover her cheeks as she lay before Harry bottomless. The chill of the main tent area made her feel exposed and she found herself craving the warmth of having his body pressed up against her.

The tent was dim in the late evening, but it was lighter than the last time they had been this intimate and Harry was now hovering a few inches from her most private bits – and she knew that he had a clear view of _everything_. Her heart was racing as the coil at her core wound tighter, she couldn’t look away from him, watching as his eyes were fixed between her legs for several moments before he looked up at her. She knew she was as flustered and flushed as ever, and the deep lust in his eyes only made her squirm even more underneath him.

“Hermione,” he spoke up to her, holding her eyes with an intense and smouldering gaze.

 _Oh fuck_ , she thought as her stomach flipped over. _There’s that deep baritone voice again._ She knew that she was already wet, whenever he had that look, that voice and the way he was gripping her hips right now – she was doomed. She wanted him, she needed him to touch her.

“Yes,” the words rasped from her lips – it didn’t sound like her at all. Her voice was deeper and lusty, and she felt Harry’s hand tighten on her hip in response.

“I’m going to try something – if you don’t like it, that’s okay just let me know,” He moved so he was laying at an odd angle at the foot of the bed, his head lined up between her thighs, hand still on her hip as he waited to see if she would object.

“Okay,” she breathed. A small amount of mortification crept up inside her as she watched Harry lower his head between her legs. She could feel her eyes widen as she watched, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene of anxious anticipation, want, and horror before her. She wanted this but her mind was racing – _Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god – his face is right there, what if it tastes bad!? What if it’s awful? what if –_ her thoughts were cut off as she felt the first soft touch of Harry’s tongue against her folds, and her eyes fluttered shut.

She let out a breath she didn’t even know she had been holding as he ran his tongue along her slick folds once more and her head fell back. _Fuck_ , she thought as her brain ceased to function. His movements were slow and tentative as if waiting for her to buck him away with her hips in rejection – but with each movement he let his tongue slide over her clit, and it felt surreal. It was soft, gentle, delicate – she didn’t have the words to describe it, but the feeling was completely different than when he had used his fingers like before. It was much more intimate, and every single touch was completely for her.

She felt her fingers tighten in the sheets beside her as her mind went into overload at the sensation and thoughts began to once again race through her mind as her breathing sped up. She furrowed her brow in frustration as she felt herself losing control over her thoughts. _No!_ she thought quickly as she tried to regain control over her racing thoughts. She wouldn’t allow her anxiety and ridiculous mortification to run amuck in her brain and ruin this when it so obviously felt good. She wouldn’t allow her mind to overthink the fact that it was Harry’s face between her legs and his tongue touching her… _there_ … that was causing these incredible sensations. _Don’t overthink it,_ she breathed calmly to herself. _Trust him, if he didn’t want to be down there – he wouldn’t be. Just focus on the feeling_. She breathed deeply and forced her face and shoulders to relax until she slowly untangled her fingers from the sheets and let the calm take over her body.

Harry had anticipated her hesitation and continued to move slowly until the tension from her body had all but dissipated. As the last bits of tensions from her shoulders fell away, she felt him move his tongue more quickly and it pressed harder against her clit. Her breath caught as she gasped at the feeling. _Fuck that feels good_ , she thought as a small moan escaped her lips. Apparently, that was all the reassurance that Harry needed because his motions became more deliberate, his grip on her hip tightened and she felt him slide a single finger inside her. When he curled it up toward her stomach, she outright moaned and her hips reflexively ground up against him.

“Holy fuck!” she groaned out as one hand shot down to tangle in his hair.

Her body trembled. It felt like her nerves were on fire as the coil at her core was burning and tightening with each swipe of Harry’s tongue. Her mind was blank to any thought or reason and she felt her eyes roll back as Harry inserted a second digit and began sucking on her clit as his fingers pressed gently against that wonderful little bundle of nerves he had discovered a month ago. Her hips flexed against him, her breath was short and shallow and the muscles in her abdomen tightened as she felt that familiar building sensation between her legs.

“Harry – I – Fuck, Harry I’m,” the words tumbled from her lips between the moans that she couldn’t prevent. “Oh god Harry I – I’m going to come.”

Harry’s grip on her hips tightened holding her firmly in place against the mattress, controlling the rocking of her hips, his fingers stroked her more quickly and he swirled his tongue over her clit in a motion that made her see white. She fell apart under him, swearing as her body tensed and twitched, her hand tightly gripping his hair with no mercy as her hips rocked against his mouth. He continued to stroke her as she rode out her orgasm until the hand that gripped his hair fell away to the bed and she lay there panting, eyes glassy and unfocused. She watched through the haze as Harry pulled himself away from between her thighs and kissed her hip before he came to lay by her side. He had a rather large grin on his face.

“So,” he said as he kissed the corner of her mouth. “Was that okay?”

“Pfft – Harry,” she swatted him gently at the teasing question and grinned when he laughed. “Was that okay? Seriously? – fuck – yes, that was more than okay.”

“Good I’m glad,” Harry whispered at her ear before he ducked his head to kiss her once more.

She could taste herself on his lips – it was a little bit sweet but hard to describe, though it wasn’t bad – and with that she felt a tiny part of her buried anxiety fall away as she moved her lips against his. She could feel the bulge in his pants still present as it pressed against her hip once more. She grabbed his belt and pressed against him as she traced her hand over him – she wanted to taste him. She wanted to know what it was like to have him in her mouth – to see what he tasted like. The idea of putting his member in her mouth made her heart race, she was nervous that she would be terrible at it – but she had of course done a least some research and was determined to not let her anxiety get the best of her. She would do it, because she was Hermione fucking Granger, and she could manage anything.

“Harry,” she murmured against his lips.

“Mmm?” He questioned as he kissed her back.

“I want to taste you,” she pushed his shoulder gently, rolling him on to his back and rolled herself so that she was straddling his hips. She could feel his hard erection through his jeans pressing up against her wet center. She rolled her hips and grinned down at him when he groaned – she could see the desire in his eyes and the control he was fighting to maintain.

“Are you sure?” His eyes were hazy as they searched over her face, his hands were resting on her hips while hers were braced against his chest. “You don’t have to – I didn’t do that because I was expecting anything.”

“I know,” Hermione said with a small smile as she pushed her hips down into his once more. “But I want to.”

With that she scooted down Harry’s legs and began to undo his belt. His eyes tracked her every movement as they darkened with want – like a predator watching its prey. She carefully undid the fly of his pants before she grabbed the sides of his jeans and boxers and pulled them down over his hips. Her heart raced as she took in the sight of his fully erect member and she could not help but marvel at its stature as it stood proudly – while simultaneously wondering how the hell she was supposed to fit the whole thing in her mouth. While she was never much for reading smutty novels like many of the other girls her age had been, she never turned away from knowledge either – even if it was smutty knowledge. So, when Katie Bell had been talking to some other girls in the dormitory bathroom about how to give blow jobs she had paid attention quietly while preparing for bed – crinkling her nose at some of Katie’s choice words and inwardly gawking at the fact that Katie had just admitted to giving head to a fellow Gryffindor student in an empty classroom. Katie had said that you should use your hand to start with, it helped with the sensation apparently and also helped if you were unable to fit the whole of the guy’s prick in your mouth. She recalled that Katie suggested going slow and stroking up and down as you essentially bobbed your head up and down – and now would be the time to test that knowledge.

Her cheeks flushed as she tentatively reached her hand out to take him in her grasp. _This would be the first time that Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, had ever touched a male penis_. She almost laughed as the thought ran through her mind, but it was quickly squashed down as she closed her fingers around him and hoped to god she truly was as bright as everyone seemed to think she was – and that she wasn’t about to mess this up too badly. She was surprised by the feel of it, she didn’t know what she was expecting, but it was harder than she thought it would be as she experimentally gripped her hand more tightly and moved it up and down. She heard Harry’s breath intake sharply and when she glanced up she saw that his eyes had hooded slightly. His gaze was locked on her with a deep want that sent a chill down her spine. _Well that’s a good sign_ , she thought as she shivered under his gaze and she moved her hand again. His skin was softer than she could have imagined, and his slit was slick with pre-come.

Slowly she lowered her head, unsure of whether or not she should just pop the tip in her mouth she opted instead to slowly trace her tongue around the head. She kept her eyes focused on her hand and the stiff member that twitched in her grasp as she continued to trace her tongue along him – smiling inwardly at the low breath that escaped Harry. Feeling a bit more sure, Hermione opened her mouth wider and slid him into her mouth.

“Oh fuck,” Harry groaned out as Hermione slowly bobbed her head and twirled her tongue along his length.

Her heart fluttered at the noises he was making, as she continued to bob her head, circle her tongue and move her hand up and down with each movement. Katie had been right – using her hand as a guide helped her control how much of him she took into her mouth at one time and it helped her keep her pace as she moved up and down. She tried taking more with each bob and could feel Harry restraining himself from thrusting into her mouth as she moved. When she lowered her head far enough that he hit the back of her throat she realized that she wouldn’t be able to take the whole length of him in – at least not yet, not without gagging anyways. She put a mental pin in that idea to research later and see what she could do to try and improve.

“Shit – Hermione – fuck that feels so good,” Harry gasped as she continued moving her mouth over him. She felt his hand come to rest on the top of her head, tangling gently within her hair but being careful not to push down. “Just like that – you can squeeze harder – Oh fuck.”

At Harry’s words Hermione had tightened her grip on his length. She hadn’t been gripping him very tightly before – afraid that she might squeeze too hard and hurt him, but evidently that was not the case. His response to her extra pressure was instant, his hand curled more tightly in her hair and a string of expletives left his lips as he struggled not to buck his hips into her. She sucked him harder, moving her head up and down with her hand tracing her tongue along the underside of his length before circling it around to the head.

“Oh my god Hermione – fuck I’m going to come, Hermione you –“ His words stopped as she tightened her grip further and circled her tongue one last time.

Harry’s whole body tensed as he let out a moan and Hermione felt his length become impossibly hard before hot liquid spurted into her mouth. She knew it was coming – yet hadn’t been expecting it and was caught off guard as some of it hit the back of her throat. She stopped moving her head and instead remained motionless on her knees, her mouth still surrounding him as she stroked her hand up and down her length as he came undone and his release filled her mouth.

 _Oh – my, okay – what do I do now?!_ Her mind had started racing again as she realized he was finished. _Do I spit it out or keep it in? Do I take my mouth off now? Should I swallow this? It’s warmer than I expected, kind of salty? What did Katie say?_ She forced herself to breathe as she removed her lips from him but kept his release inside her mouth, covering her lips gently with one hand as she looked up at Harry. _Fuck he looks gorgeous_ , she thought as she stared up at him. His hair was a mess, his eyes were glassy and dark, and he looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him before. Images of him coming over top of her filled her mind making her blush as she remembered just how attractive he had been when he came the first time they had sex. It made her stomach fluttered to think that he would have looked like that only seconds ago – and that she had accomplished it with just her mouth and hand.

“Hermione I’m sorry – you don’t have to swallow that – I was going to tell you to stop before I came,” Harry had started to sit up and she could see the embarrassment creep across his face as she realized what she must look like from his perspective. She was sitting back on her heels by his knees, her mouth filled with come, blushing, and her hand gently resting over her mouth.

She shook her head before she made her decision and decided quickly to swallow. She saw Harry’s eyes widen as she did it and smiled at him when she was finished. It was more viscous than water, tasted slightly salty and was warm – it wasn’t bad, but she could see how some girls complained about ‘ _swallowing’_ especially if they had a bad gag reflex.

“It’s okay,” Hermione said a little bit shyly as she looked at Harry and gently wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She decided that it really wasn’t bad at all, and that she would do it again – especially when Harry seemed to enjoy it so much. “You told me you were going to – I just, I guess I wasn’t thinking about that part – but – I – I don’t mind.”

“Merlin you’re perfect,” Harry breathed as he reached out to her and pulled her toward him.

They laid together on the bunk, Hermione’s head resting on Harry’s chest as his hands wrapped around her and she snuggled into his warmth. _This is perfect_ , she thought as she felt Harry trace gentle circles on her lower back, her tank top pushed up around her ribs so that he could stroke her skin. _Everything about this is perfect, because it’s with Harry_.

“You’re perfect,” she mumbled against him as she breathed in his scent, nuzzling her nose into his chest. She smiled as he pulled her tighter to him in response and relaxed into his hold.

“So, what was your idea?” Harry asked after they had laid there for several minutes enjoying the post activity cuddles.

“Mm,” Hermione recalled their conversation when Harry had first entered the tent. She turned her head and rested her chin on his chest so she could look up at his eyes. “So, it’s a triple _protean charm_ combined with _disguising, protective_ and _cryptography_ spells.”

“Mhmm,” Harry nodded recalling what Hermione had said to him earlier in between their snogging. “And how do you plan to set that up?”

“When I was brewing the potion, I saw my ink bottle cap on top of my notebook and remembered the coins that I had made for the DA meetings, do you remember them?” Hermione smiled when Harry nodded. “Well those coins were charmed with a protean charm – so when I changed mine all the others would change to show the date and time of the next meeting. What I want to create is something similar but that allows us to send coded messages back and forth.”

“Makes sense,” Harry said as he shifted so Hermione could cross her arms over his chest to rest her chin on them more comfortably. “So how are we going to do that?”

“Do you remember the summer we spent at the Burrow in fourth year before the Quidditch World Cup? Well during our time there I helped Mr. Weasley get a subscription to a muggle magazine called Science Focus – it covers a lot of neat things and Mr. Weasley was ridiculously interested in the topics. It really skyrocketed him past questions on rubber duck functionality and frankly he found the articles titled things like ‘ _the science behind why chocolate will kill you_ ’ devastatingly amusing. So, I got him a subscription that is delivered to a post office box in Ottery St. Catchpole – the small town near the Burrow, and he stops by once a month to pick up his subscription. _And_ I know that he still receives and reads them because we talked about them just this past summer before the wedding. My thought was that we can leave him a modified magazine in the post office box along with a muggle ‘ _commemorative coin_ ’ that has been issued to ‘ _long time subscribers’_.”

“Wait,” Harry interrupted as he quirked an eyebrow up at her. “Are you saying that you’re responsible for the _two-_ hour-long conversation that I had with Mr. Weasley this past summer about why coca cola tastes better out of glass bottles rather than cans – when, mind you – I’m pretty sure that he has _literally_ _never_ had coca cola before in his life?”

“Uhh,” Hermione grinned at him sheepishly as she shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry? I guess – I mean it turned out to be helpful in the end, right?”

“Unbelievable,” Harry laughed as he shook his head. “Ugh – that fucking magazine led to so many bizarre conversations – I’m pretty sure you’re responsible for nearly giving Mrs. Weasley an aneurism. But okay fine – yes, it turned out to be a good thing – I guess.”

“Hey – the keyword there is _nearly_ , he only gets them once a month, so the topics wear off after a week or two.” She grinned at him as he rolled his eyes.

“Okay, so we sneak into the post office and modify his magazine – how is that going to work with the coin?” Harry asked raising his eyebrow once more.

“Well the magazine will be spelled with a dual _protean_ _charm_ to match a blank notebook that I have here. The first half will allow us to write to him – the words will show up on his magazine pages in coded text, and the second half will be charmed so that he can write on the magazine pages and his text will show up in my journal. The coin will be _protean_ _charmed_ too so that I can give him the cypher for the text we send. I’ll instruct him to burn the pages after they are sent as well, so each page is a one time use and no one else will be able to stumble upon our messages.” She smiled at Harry proudly. “It’s safe for two reasons. First the messages will be encoded and only Mr. Weasley will know what the cypher is. And second, no one in the wizarding world suspects anything from muggles – most of them don’t even know what a cypher is either. Remember Snape’s puzzle guarding against the Philosopher’s Stone? It was so simple, it was brilliant – most witches and wizards lack in the logic department and rely heavily on magic. Besides, _literally_ no one else would ever even open his magazine let alone read it.”

“I agree,” Harry said grinning down at her. “That’s clever – very clever, and keeps us a safe distance away from Mr. Weasley so we don’t risk being spotted or have anyone catching on to him meeting in unusual places. It also opens up two-way communication available more than once – but we should still be wary of the topics we write back and forth. How are you going to get the message to him the first time though, so he knows what’s going on?”

“I’ll leave him a note on the magazine explaining everything – but charmed to activate only when he touches it and with an added modified _disillusionment_ and _disguising_ spell along with a _protective_ charm, so basically he will be the only one able to see it and the words will vanish after a set amount of time. I’ll tell him to burn it after he reads it as well.”

“You make it sound like it’s so simple,” Harry sighed as he kissed her head.

“Well – I mean, it is a little simple,” Hermione laughed as she sat up from Harry’s chest. She was positively starving and had just realized that they were laying in the tent together naked from the waist down for the last half hour. “I really should have thought of it earlier and set something up to communicate with the Order before we left – I guess I just thought that we would have more time to prepare.”

“Yeah I know,” Harry sighed as he sat up and grabbed his pants. His stomach rumbled gently as he began to pull his boxers back on. “We all thought that we would have more time – more time to prepare, more time to say goodbye – but we’ll make it work. How long do you need to prepare the coin and magazine?”

“Well the coin and letter I’ll do tomorrow. I’ll also get my notebook set-up but I’ll need the magazine to be able to complete everything.” Hermione had already replaced her shorts and was fishing out a sweater from her purse that sat next to the bed – now that she was out of the potion lab and their activities were over the chill from the tent was starting to set in. “The magazine is delivered on the 4th of every month and Mr. Weasley usually goes the following weekend to collect it. That means we need to be in Ottery St. Catchpole in 2 days to break into the post office and complete the charms of the February month issue.”

“Okay, we can do that – while we’re there we can grab some additional supplies and see if there is a local apothecary, it would be safer than Diagon Alley. The wizarding presence in Ottery St. Catchpole is rather large – so they may have something.” Harry stood and went to the kitchen to throw on the pot pie as he began mulling over the few details he knew about Ottery St. Catchpole.

“That’s a good idea,” Hermione nodded at him as she shrugged on her sweater and stood to go use the bathroom. “I’m going to get the lab cleaned up before dinner, and then we can make a list of what we want to grab while we’re there.”

“Okay,” Harry kissed her gently as she walked by, smiling as she blushed lightly and walked toward the bathroom. He watched as her slender form disappeared down the short hall, the soft padding of her thick fuzzy socks making his heart flutter as he thought about how she had looked hovered over him only moments ago. How they had been so intimate but also remained capable of switching back to business. _Fuck I’m so lucky_ , he thought as he turned back to finish preparing what would now be a very late dinner. 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Testing the shield charm, training, delivering the magazine and robbing an apothecary. Things don't go to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I’m back, and I’m so happy to be here! I’ve missed writing and I’ve missed reading all of your comments after posting chapters. I love each and every one of you more than you can imagine – you really don’t know just how important you are <3  
> 2\. Apologies for not posting on the first Sunday of November – I went back and read the last few chapters of what I had previously written to make sure I picked things up consistently. I also spent some time finalizing my plan for the rest of the story so that I don’t get writers block with the plot! (I hope)  
> 3\. And in completing my review I realized that I looked at the wrong calendar (1997 instead of 1998) and dated the magazine delivery date wrong :/ ugh dumb mistake – I have corrected it to the 4th and updated chapter 18 for consistency.  
> 4\. Please enjoy this hot off the press chapter and let me know what you think, comments and feedback are always appreciated :) I read them all and they help me improve (sincerely I do, and I mean it!) 
> 
> And as always, thank you for reading! <3 <3 <3 ~ TT
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Updates on Sunday +/- a few days.

Harry gritted his teeth and tried not to flinch as a boulder the size of Hagrid hovered directly above him, and he held his breath as it then started to lower – it was made worse only by the fact that the rock had been strategically selected to have a small surface area on one side to, as Hermione so eloquently put it, ‘ _better mimic the bite force of a werewolf’_. In Harry’s opinion, it just made the rock look that much more unnerving and stabby, given its pointy nature.

While they had started with smaller rocks and worked their way up in size Harry could not help the butterflies that swirled in his stomach as the rock lowered further down only inches now from the shield charm that he had just cast on himself. If it wasn’t for his immense trust in Hermione, he would have stepped aside ages ago. As it turned out, mimicking the bite force of a werewolf was incredibly difficult to do when neither one of them was an animagi of a comparable animal and they figured it would be a bad idea to go looking for trouble with local animals. Hermione, however, had concluded that if the modified shield could withstand an equivalent weight pressing down on it over a comparable surface area, then by default it should hypothetically be able to withstand a bite from Nagini or a werewolf – ‘ _Since that’s all bite force really is, just force over an area’_ she had stated matter-of-factly.

Hermione estimated that the bite force of a werewolf exceeded that of Nagini and it was likely just over 2000 psi. Since they were not able to find any rocks that had a 1-inch square surface area on any side that just happened to weigh 2000lbs, they had to select a larger rock in order to get comparable force over area – or at least that was how Hermione had explained it. As a result, she selected the pointiest rock she could find with a weight larger than what they would’ve needed had the rock had a 1 inch square side.

Ether way, a giant rock was now about to be lowered on top of his head – and Harry was very glad that it was Hermione who was controlling it. She had implemented several back-up safety measures including a tether on the rock so that it would only fall so far and therefore not completely crush or kill Harry if the shield failed. She was also standing right there controlling the rock, only ever allowing partial weight to rest on his shield so they could see if it held.

“Ready?” Hermione called, with far more confidence than Harry seemed to be feeling at the moment. He trusted Hermione completely, but standing under a boulder still made him nervous.

“Yes, I guess,” Harry said as he glanced upwards once more before locking his eyes on Hermione. “Let’s do this before my shield runs out – I’m exhausted from the last two times and I’m not sure how much longer I can hold this.”

Hermione nodded before she lowered her wand a fraction and allowed the giant rock to rest gently on Harry’s head before she slowly lessened the levitation and allowed more and more of the weight to rest on the shield. It was a funny feeling having a giant rock trying to bore into and crush you but having the pressure and force stopped by an invisible wall. Harry could feel the pressure on his head, but massively reduced. It felt like someone was gently resting their hand on his head prior to tussling his hair – there was absolutely nothing painful or heavy about it. He waited anxiously and glanced up to see that the boulder was pressing into the nothingness just a few centimeters above his head, but the shield held – it didn’t buckle, and Harry didn’t move from any physical force.

“Okay, I’m going to give you 95% weight,” Hermione said as she concentrated on removing more levitation from the rock, allowing it to settle on Harry’s head with even more weight. She trusted her back up tethers, but she would never 100% let go of her control on the rock – that would just be irresponsible and foolish. “How is it?”

“It’s fine,” Harry said as he stood very still and still only felt the light touch on the top of his head. “I can tell it’s there but it’s just like a light touch.”

“Harry that’s fantastic!” Hermione grinned triumphantly before she resumed full levitation on the rock and removed it from above Harry’s head, placing it gently to the side. “Well I’m glad we tested it but let’s not do that again okay? I don’t fancy the idea of squishing you with a rock accidentally – backup tethers or not this was dangerous, and I’d much rather keep you around.”

Harry grinned as he felt the shield give out exactly in line with the mental timer he had set. They now officially had two protective shields – one mainly for magical attacks, and one fully protective against magical and physical attacks. It felt a little bit like having gold in your back pocket. With practice Harry suspected that they would be able to increase their durations on the full shield, but until then they could cast either charm dependent on the situation they were in.

“Well it’s confirmed,” Harry said as he shuffled through the snow to Hermione and wrapped his arm around her waist. “With resistance to physical blows I can only hold the modified shield for 4 minutes – and you admitted that you would miss me if I was gone.”

“Pschh – Harry! What a horrible thing to say – miss you – of course I would miss you,” Hermione swatted him on the chest before she allowed herself to be pulled into a tight hug. “You know how important you are.”

“Mhmm,” Harry mumbled as he kissed the top of her head. “I am the chosen one.”

“Oh, for the love of – Harry you know what I meant – that you’re important to me,” Hermione had pulled herself away from Harry’s chest to glare at him. “You know how much you mean to me Harry.”

“I know what you meant,” Harry said quietly before he kissed her gently, taking his time to absorb the softness of her lips. “You’re important to me too.”

Harry grinned as a smile split across Hermione’s face and he pulled her back tightly to his chest.

“You know you’re brilliant Harry,” Hermione murmured against his chest. “This spell is incredible.”

They remained outside for several minutes, holding each other in the snow as they both became lost in thought. Hermione had finished charming the coins, her notebook and created the note to Mr. Weasley that morning – she had even selected the first cypher for their communication and preset the coins. After lunch they had apparated to Dartmoor National Park to be closer to Ottery St. Catchpole and so that Harry could implement his testing plan using the natural rocks in the area. He had taught Hermione the newly modified shield charm, which she was able to hold for three minutes, then they had spent the rest of the afternoon testing it to see if it truly would resist physical attacks – though it had taken a bit of effort for Harry to convince Hermione that it would be okay to drop rocks on him.

She had flat out refused at first until she came up with a back-up safety mechanism which turned out to be a modification on a tether spell that some wizards use on their animals to keep them in their yard. The magic was tricky and would never work on intelligent magical beasts, but on smaller animals or nonmagical animals the tether acts as a temporary leash and prevents the object from moving past a certain point. In this case Hermione had set the limit to about mid-chest level on Harry – so that if his shield spell did fail, he wouldn’t be complete crushed. She had also insisted that he stand in between two large flat rocks that were about waist height so if the tether failed, they had a physical barrier that would stop the rock from crushing him. Harry had truly appreciated her efforts to ensure that he did not get injured or crushed, and he was glad that she took over designing the testing methodology.

So far everything they set out to accomplish that day had been successful and frankly that made Harry nervous. Every time things started to go well for them, or they started to get on track, or they made some kind of headway – it always seemed like things went to shit. He pulled Hermione tighter as he rested his chin on the top of her head. _You are immensely important to me_ , he thought as he breathed in her scent along with the bitter cold air. _And I will do everything to protect you_.

-x-x-

“Alright, are you ready?” Hermione asked as she finished packing up the last of the items on her potions workbench.

She wanted to have the coins, notebook and explanatory note readily accessible in her purse for when they broke into the Ottery St. Catchpole post office in a few short minutes. They had spent the remainder of the previous day reading and studying late into the evening. They went to bed much later than their usual schedule, forgoing a night watch and instead relying on their many alarms and wards – hoping to be well-rested for their midnight sneaking and break-ins. It was just after midnight now and they were planning to follow their usual routine of apparating a short distance out of the city and sneaking in under the invisibility cloak. However, since the city was so close to the Weasleys – who were known opposition to Voldemort – they figured that the city may be monitored by some of Voldemort’s followers, so they decided to use Polyjuice potion for this journey for extra safety.

Once they got into town, they would break into the post office first and make the changes to the magazine as this was the top priority of the mission. Secondary to that, assuming that they didn’t run into trouble during their post office break-in, they planned to grab some supplies from local grocers and then break into the Ottery St. Catchpole apothecary to get some additional potion ingredients needed to finish the last few batches of blood replenishing potion, essence of dittany, and calming draught.

Hermione was also hoping to break into the muggle pharmacy which was located just across the street from the apothecary to get some muggle supplies for minor injuries. She figured that if they could treat minor scrapes and bruises and other non-magical injuries with muggle remedies then they would be able to save their potions and salves supplies for the more serious injuries. She had proposed the idea to Harry while they had a late breakfast and he had no objections since he was used to muggle products from his childhood anyways.

“Ready,” Harry said as he shouldered his pack and met Hermione by the entrance to the tent. “I was looking at the map and I think that our best point of entry is going to be from the South side, as it’s closest to the post office. After that we can apparate to the East side and approach the apothecary, it’s near the muggle hospital and the pharmacy that you wanted to go to.”

“Okay – I know a good street to the South that we can apparate to that should be dead this time of night. After this we only have four more hair samples – but we have enough Polyjuice potion left for six more transformations.” Hermione said as she held up two small glasses of Polyjuice potion and then turned to exit the tent. “So, if the opportunity comes up, we should grab some more samples.”

“Sounds good. So, who will we be today?” Harry asked as he started to disassemble the tent to pack in Hermione’s purse while Hermione carefully added different human hairs to each glass and struck the samples from her notebook so they knew they were used.

“Today you’re a tall sandy-haired young male and I – am your hot blonde girlfriend,” Hermione grinned at him as he stuffed the now shrunken tent into her bag. She handed him the glass when he was finished. “Bottom’s up!”

“God I hate this stuff.” Harry said with annoyance as he eyed the glass with contempt before downing the whole thing in one gulp.

They both immediately covered their mouths and grimaced as the taste hit their tongues and they forced themselves to swallow the brew. It was horrible and if they hadn’t taken it previously and been expecting the taste it would have been difficult to keep down. Regardless of how much Hermione hated Barty Crouch Jr or how much she detested him as a human being – she had to admit it was impressive that he drank as much Polyjuice potion as he did throughout their 4th year of school to keep up his Mad Eye Moody charade. She wondered if he had intentionally spelled away his taste buds or that perhaps he had found a way to adjust the potion to make it not so utterly disgusting. _Or maybe he just got used to it_ , she thought as she scrunched her nose at the lingering taste.

Hermione watched as Harry grew another two inches and his hair changed from black to a light sandy colour, his eye shape changed along with their colour until they settled in at a dark brown. She could feel herself growing several inches and tried to ignore the tightness across her chest as her boobs grew several cups larger – apparently this girl’s boobs were real. That was one of the fascinating things about Polyjuice potion and using it with hair you borrowed from muggles, it changed you to match the persons genetic appearance, not their altered one. So, depending on who you stole hair from you could be in for some surprises, like a different nose, extra skin, or even smaller boobs.

“I like your normal hair better,” the sandy-haired man in front of her spoke as he reached out and ran Hermione’s newly blond and newly straight hair through his fingers. “This is so – so ordinary, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Thanks Harry,” Hermione blushed as she reached up to grab his hand and squeezed it. “This should last us about three hours give or take some so we should get apparating.”

They apparated just outside of Ottery St. Catchpole on the South side as Harry had recommended. Harry held Hermione’s wand while she kept a firm grip on his other ungloved hand. When they landed, they crouched into their defensive position and waited while Harry cast several silent spells including _homenum_ _revelio_ to ensure that they were alone – but Sidmouth Road at 1 am was empty, cold and dark. They had purposely apparated South of Gerway Lane to avoid being seen. There was nothing lurking near them but trees and snow-covered farmland – no one knew that they were there.

They changed grips and Harry gently held the back of Hermione’s neck while she bent over to fish out the invisibility cloak from her bag. Once they were covered, she grabbed Harry’s hand again and they made their way slowly into town toward the post office while vanishing their footprints from the snow.

Despite having only been to Ottery St. Catchpole once, Hermione couldn’t help but feel like everything was so familiar. How many times was it now that they had snuck into a town and broken in somewhere to either get supplies or information? Her senses were on high alert and they flinched at every noise, every rattle and any movement of the trees that they saw. _When this is all over_ , Hermione thought to herself, _I think I will miss this the least_. Fighting for food and supplies, sneaking around and being on high alert somehow always left her feeling like she had run a marathon. Probably from the sheer amount of stress and adrenaline pumping through her veins as her body was constantly vigilant and waiting for attack – she would be happy when her sneaking days were over.

When they reached the post office Harry quietly unlocked the door and they slipped inside. Hermione led the way to the post boxes at the back of the building where Mr. Weasley received his subscription to box number 153. It took Hermione only a breath to unlock the box wordlessly and pull out the magazine. When she did, she almost snorted at the cover which read ‘ _Plants – are they listening to your conversations?’._ She turned to Harry who promptly rolled his eyes when he read the cover and shook his head.

It took Hermione about 25 minutes to complete the charms on the magazine and link it to her notebook using the double _protean charm_. The coin, which was already prepared, was then carefully inserted into an envelope and placed within the magazine. Hermione used a sticking charm to ensure that the envelope would not fall out of the magazine and made it look like it was intentionally part of that month’s issue. Harry watched her work, while maintaining a gently grip on her hip, he’d pushed his hand under the fabric of her jacket and sweater and would apparate them away if anything unplanned happened. Once the charms were completed Hermione then placed the letter to Mr. Weasley inside the front cover of the magazine. She used a sticking charm to fasten it as well and placed a fourth disguising charm on the letter. Even Molly Weasley wouldn’t be able to see the note she had left explaining how their communication would work – it was for Mr. Weasley’s eyes only and would vanish if forced to reveal itself by any other wizard.

Once she was done, she carefully placed the magazine back in the post box and relocked the door before turning around to Harry and grinning widely – step one of their mission had been a success. They then crept their way back to the post office door and quietly left the building. Before apparating to the East side of town they popped into the small grocery store just down the street that they had passed on their way in and restocked their supplies. Hemione grimaced as she looked at her change purse while counting out money to pay for the groceries – this whole ‘ _saving the wizarding world’_ escapade was taking a huge hit on her financials and she was starting to regret not taking out more money from Gringotts and her muggle bank. They would likely need to start trying to catch or harvest more of their own food – she had already been trying to collect mushrooms and other small things like nuts and berries while they travelled, but it looked like it would need to become a more regular routine.

She and Harry had planned to stop at Gringotts before skipping out on 7th year to go Horcrux hunting, to collect money from both of their accounts. She knew that Harry was well off and that he had probably intended to take out a small fortune to fund whatever they needed. They never told Ron about their plan since they both knew that he and the Weasley’s didn’t have much money to contribute and they didn’t want him to get upset. They were planning to make it a separate trip with just the two of them early in the morning before Ron woke up the week after Bill and Fleur’s wedding, but they never got the chance – they didn’t expect the wedding to be the last night they would have to prepare. Hermione had had her bag, clothes and essentials for all three of them packed for days, but their post wedding Gringotts trip never happened and to show up at Gringotts in Diagon Alley now would be a death sentence.

Once clear of the main street they apparated over to the East side of town and landed on Cadhay Lane so that they could sneak into the apothecary and the nearby muggle pharmacy. Their walk to the apothecary was equally as stressful and tense as their walk to the muggle post office had been. The wind was picking up and the associated noises made both Hermione and Harry stop several times on the walk to crouch down while they waited to ensure that they were truly alone – but a combination of the cold and perhaps even some luck seemed to be on their side tonight. They made it to the apothecary undisturbed.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered barely audible beneath the invisibility cloak. “There may be wards and charms.”

Harry nodded in agreement as they crouched next to the side of the apothecary building. It was an old stone house, where the owner clearly slept upstairs, and the shop was on the main floor facing the street. Harry wondered how long it had been there for and he smiled amusedly when he thought of how many Ottery St. Catchpole muggles must walk by this building each and every day without evening knowing that it was there.

Holding Hermione’s wand steady in his hand he cast several charms to check for any wards – finding none they crept slowly toward the main door to check it.

“No wards, but the door is charmed and locked,” Harry whispered to Hermione after testing the door. He handed her back her wand. “I don’t suppose you know any fancy spells to get us in without setting off some sort of alarm, do you?”

Hermione cast a detection spell at the door and sure enough Harry was right. While the whole building had no overall wards – likely to prevent them from going off at all hours of the night either due to neighbourhood cats, drunk muggles, or local kids, the door was indeed locked tight with some impressive charm work. A simple _alohomora_ wouldn’t open the door – and even if it would Hermione wasn’t stupid enough to use it. The charms placed on this door would alert the owner, who was likely sleeping upstairs, that it had been opened outside of business hours or tampered with.

“No,” Hermione mouthed back, before gesturing for Harry to start moving back around the building. They shuffled their way around the house and vanished their snowy footsteps until they were in the side yard of the house.

“So, what are we going to do?” Harry questioned as he watched Hermione flick her wand at the building and squint her eyes as she examined it in the darkness.

“Well,” she sighed after a moment and when several more wordless detection spells had been cast. “For starters I’m going to add burglary skills to our list of things to work on. The whole building isn’t warded, just the door on the front and there is some spell work on the main floor – probably a movement detection spell that activates on the main floor during the evening. As annoying as it is – on the bright side it’s probably safe to assume that this apothecary has a good selection of ingredients.”

Harry snorted slightly at her optimism and waited for her to continue.

“The way I see it we have two, or possibly 3 options. First, we wait until morning and then enter as disguised customers – but that would mean using more Polyjuice potion and the store owner may be a bit suspicious since we aren’t regular customers and you never know who we might run into during the day or who might be watching the store. Second, you levitate me up to that second-floor window and I’ll break in and then levitate you up. We can then try to dispel the motion detection ward on the main floor before making our way down there.”

“What’s the possible third option?” Harry asked when Hermione had stopped speaking and was looking at him guiltily.

“Well,” she hesitated. “The third option is quite illegal.”

“You mean more illegal than breaking into someone’s home?”

“Yes,” the guilty look on her face doubled. “If I’m unable to dispel the motion detection spell on the first floor – well we can always find the bedroom of whoever owns this place and immobilize them so that they can’t do anything when the detection spells go off. We then have to grab what we need quickly and get out before releasing them.”

“How exactly would we be immobilizing the owner?” Harry asked as he now understood where Hermione was going with her train of thought.

“Well, we could use _immobulus_ or _petrificus totalus_ , and worst case if we had to – which I don’t want to consider it – we could use _imperius_ – but either way we look at this we can add attacking an unarmed, and innocent wizard on top of our breaking and entering crime.”

“How certain are you that you could remove the motion detection spell on the main floor?”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione frowned as she rubbed her brow with her wand hand since Harry still kept a firm grip on the other. “Maybe sixty or seventy percent? I sort of need to attempt it to see – or at least examine the spell work from the inside. But if I fail, well – then we’d be in trouble. It would be better to just immobilize the person first, but then they will know we are there for sure.”

“Alright – okay,” Harry’s brow creased as he pondered how to move forward. “How about this. Let’s go to the pharmacy first and get the supplies you want from there – that way if the apothecary goes poorly we just leave right away and we’re not out anything else. We’ll try _immobulus_ first and worst case we just leave and apparate back to the Northern coast.”

“Okay, yes let’s try that – I’d rather not have this turn into a duel.” Hermione nodded once in affirmation before they made to move across the street to the small muggle pharmacy.

Breaking into the pharmacy was easier than catching flobberworms. A quick _alohomora_ and _immobulus_ later and they had entered the pharmacy and shut off any muggle security alarms that might have been present. Harry trailed quietly behind Hermione under the cloak as she went from aisle to aisle collecting various items ranging from feminine products, to band-aids, splint material, medical wrap, acetaminophen, and disinfectant. He raised an eyebrow when she grabbed several syringes from behind the counter along with some needles and a long plastic tube that were sealed in sterile packages.

“You never know,” she muttered as she then counted out some bills to place in the register to cover the cost of the materials she had taken.

Leaving the pharmacy and heading back to the apothecary proved to be more difficult. They were almost across the street – their pace slowed by Hermione needing to vanish their footprints in the freshly fallen snow when Harry froze on spot and grabbed her hand more tightly before pulling her into their defensive crouch position. She then heard the gentle shuffle of feet in the snow before she heard a low mumble of a voice.

 _Oh bugger,_ Hermione thought as she squinted her eyes to see down the narrow street and made out the shape of a dark hooded figure. It was walking up the sidewalk from their right toward them. _Of course our luck would run out_. She felt Harry squeeze her hand firmly and she glanced at him to see him make their _wait_ signal, indicating that they should hold on spot, before her eyes traced back to the cloaked figure approaching. They both crouched perfectly still and waited to see what the figure did, but based on the cloak it was wearing he was clearly a wizard. As the unknown wizard closed the distance toward them on the sidewalk, they heard a noise to their left before a second figure emerged from around the corner.

“Anything on yer round?” the first cloaked figure asked as it slowed to speak with the second, just to the left of where Harry and Hermione stood hidden under the invisibility cloak on the street.

“Nah,” the second replied in a gruff voice.

Though Harry’s grip remained tight neither one of them made to apparate away – the sound would be a dead give away and they needed to get ingredients from the apothecary if they wanted to have enough potion supplies. Getting caught near an apothecary would be suspicious and the last thing they wanted was for some ridiculous article to be published in the Daily Prophet that led to more security or guards around the very type of store they needed to break into.

“I ain’t seen nothin’ from the blood traitors all week – I don’ know why they think sumthin might be going on ‘ere – only thing I saw was one of ‘em mangey wolves tryin’a come in the North-East side.”

“Those fucking dogs are causing more trouble than they’re worth” the second hooded figure replied back angrily.

“Hey mate – keep yer voice down, you never know if they be listenin’,” the first man responded as he glanced nervously over his shoulder.

“Ah fuck it, those dogs cause more noise and trouble than I ever would,” the second man spoke as he waved his hand in dismissal. “I told the last one I caught trying to sneak into town to fuck off before I neutered him like the dog that he was. They’re supposed to be covert, but those bloody fuckers don’t know what the fuck that means and they just keep trying to move South. They’re already regularly pulling from Bristol and the muggles have noticed, the disappearances are on their news. Stupid as muggles are, they’re not completely moronic – they’ll notice a bunch of people being taken.”

“I know, worst part is the girls,” the first man sighed and brought a hand to his head. “It was one thing when they was just takin’ the homeless – but now tha’ they takin’ the girls from the pubs – Yeah it’s as you said, the muggles notice.”

“I just don’t understand why he even wants them, they just cause problems and cock everything up.”

“Ah who knows,” the first man said. “I recon it’s jus’ the brute force he’s after – he’ll prolly kill ‘em all once he’s done with ‘em.”

“Yeah well, I hope that’s sooner than later,” the second man spat at the ground. “Otherwise we’re bound to see more action than what’s necessary from the blood traitors – or we’ll end up in full-on war with the muggles before we’re ready. They should have leashed the main pack too, not just their damn muggle grunts.”

The first man nodded before he took out his wand and cast a warming spell on himself.

“Alrigh’ then, I’m freezing my arse off. Yer goin’ to take the East side for the rest of the night then?” the first man asked as he quickly cast a second warming charm on himself. He’d clearly been taking some kind of first watch and was trading off with the very unimpressed second man.

“Yeah, yeah, even though it’s a fucking waste of time. You tell Scabior though – that if I see another one of those fucking _dogs_ – I’m going to blast it’s head clean off – I don’t care what the orders are, they are _flee bags_ and they’re just causing problems.”

“Aye, I know, you say tha’ every night,” the first man said as he started to walk past the second man toward the corner.

“Yeah but this time I mean it!” the second man called to the first.

The first man raised his hand in the air to acknowledge the second’s words, but he kept walking until he had rounded the corner and they heard a faint pop.

“Fucking _mangy_ dogs,” the second man muttered to himself as he began strolling down the street the direction the first man had come from.

Hermione and Harry remained frozen under the cloak for the entirety of the exchange, waiting until the second man was far from view and until not a sound could be heard. Then they waited a few minutes longer. Hermione knew that not all of Voldemort’s followers liked or supported the idea of involving the werewolves, but she had not anticipated that the werewolves would be causing such problems for their own side – though it did make sense when she thought about it. Werewolves who embraced their curse tended to become more primal in their behaviours. They were often violent, hot-headed, hard to reason with and weren’t something that could be controlled. She felt Harry let out a breath behind her.

“Well that was fucking lucky,” he muttered in her ear.

“I’ve actually been meaning to ask you Harry,” Hermione muttered back as they slowly began moving toward the apothecary again. “Did you happen to have more _felix felicis_ hidden away that you decided to drink today?”

“No,” Harry snorted gently. “It sure seems that way doesn’t it. Though – I’m sure our luck will change again, just give it time.”

Hermione’s jaw clenched and her mouth fell into a tight line. Harry was right. They never had good luck, and surely this only meant that they were about to get royally screwed over in some way – it was only a matter of time. As they approached the side yard of the apothecary again Hermione pondered the conversation that they had just overheard, she knew that Harry would be thinking about it too and they needed to discuss it. She wanted to start spending more time on the golden bands and try to compile all the bits and pieces of information that they had. It was also something that they should consider telling Mr. Weasley about – she assumed that he was still in touch with Mr. Shacklebolt, who was the advisor and protector of the Prime Minister. If the werewolves were taking muggles in such a way that it was upsetting even some of Voldemort’s followers, maybe they could somehow warn the muggle public without it being obvious that they knew a larger plan was in the works. She put a pin in that thought for later discussion with Harry. They were now crouched down under the second-floor window of the apothecary and they needed to refocus on the task at hand.

“Okay, so you’re going to levitate me up to the second-floor window and I’ll climb in. Afterwards I’ll levitate you up and then we’ll find the bedroom.” Hermione spoke quietly to Harry as she handed him her wand before slowly uncovering herself from the cloak.

They both agreed she would be levitated up first since she would be able to levitate Harry up wandlessly – and thus they could avoid trying to throw their only wand to each other in the dark. Their hands were still gripped tightly together as they did one final scope out of the surrounding area before deciding it was time to complete their plan. Harry removed the cloak from himself and tucked it safely into her purse.

“Ready?” Harry asked, he squeezed her hand gently before letting go.

“Ready,” Hermione breathed.

Harry pointed her wand at her and then wordless cast his spell. Hermione felt her feet leave the ground as Harry carefully directed her up to the second-floor window and held her steady as she unlocked it and crawled inside. He waited until she was securely through the window before he lowered her wand – the last thing he wanted to do was drop her two stories down, despite the snow the landing would still hurt. Hermione poked her head back out the window and gave a small thumbs up before Harry felt himself being lifted from the ground. When he finally reached the same level as the window, he could see that the window entered into a small study room filled with books. Grabbing the ledge firmly he pulled himself through the window before Hermione lowered him back to the ground.

Hermione wasn’t sure who the man was that owned this apothecary – but she felt even worse breaking into his house after she saw all the fantastic books that he had laid around his small study. The majority of the books seemed to be focused on potion making, but there were others there regarding history and some focused on charms work. It took a decent amount of her self-control to keep her hands off the tempting books. Linking hands with Harry once more they crept toward the door to what she assumed was the hallway.

The second-floor landing of the house was dark, except for a small lantern that sat on a narrow table near the stairs. As Hermione approached the staircase cautiously, she could feel the slight hum of magical wards that were clearly not cast to be discrete on the main floor. _Yes,_ she thought as she peered down the stairs, _there is definitely a motion detection spell down there_ _\- and it was cast with the intention of being noticeable._ Whoever owned this shop was clever and knew that leaving a strong magical presence on the main floor would help to deter people from trying to break in. It was pretty much the equivalent to a dog marking his territory and leaving an absurdly strong scent.

Now that she was inside, she cast a few detection and analysis spells before frowning at the results. Hermione looked back and shook her head gently to Harry – whoever had cast this had not tried to hide it. The spell work was blunt, thick, layered and to the point. She doubted that she would be able to remove it without triggering something else. She simply had not spent enough time on her break and entering skills to be able to disarm the main floor without the risk of sounding the alarm. They would need to immobilize the owner. Harry nodded in understanding and made for the only other door that exited onto the small landing. Before opening it. he cast two _disillusionment_ spells. He didn’t want to take the cloak out in case they had to make a run for it, it was too valuable to lose, but _disillusionment_ would suffice for approaching someone who was _hopefully_ asleep. The door to what they assumed was the bedroom was unlocked and opened soundlessly when Harry turned the nob.

It was indeed a bedroom and there was indeed someone sleeping in the bed. What they had not anticipated though, was the very large owl that stood proudly on a tall perch near the window that had – at the soundless sound of the door – turned it’s head to inspect what was going on. It took only a tenth of a second for the owl’s eyes to narrow suspiciously and for its beak to open wide.

“Shi-“ Harry started to say before he was cut off by the immense screech of the owl.

With two quick flicks of his wand the owl fell silent and the man that had sat bolt upright in bed froze in place before he had managed to turn and face them.

“Well that was unexpected. You go downstairs quick and get what you need. I’ll stay here to keep them immobilized and make sure nothing else comes in – be quick.” Harry whispered hastily as he looked at the blank space where he knew Hermione was standing beside him.

“On it,” Hermione said as she let go of his hand. “You remember our meeting place?”

“Yeah, in case something happens let’s meet there.”

“Okay I need my wand for a moment,” Hermione said as she reached out toward the nothingness that was Harry and grabbed her wand.

She then quickly removed the audible alarm from the main floor – the rest she didn’t care about. The man currently frozen in his bed probably had alarm bells ringing in his head from her tampering, and he was about to get more when she set the motion detection off, but he obviously knew that they were there anyway. So long as nothing was blaring out into the neighbourhood alerting any other people of their presence Hermione couldn’t care less how many alarms she set off. With the audible alarm removed she returned her wand to Harry and quickly descended the stairs into darkness. Wandlessly she cast a small light and found the handle of the door which opened to the main floor shop at the bottom of the stair.

The apothecary was neat and tidy, everything was labelled, and she smiled despite the situation. _At least this will be easy_ , she thought, and she began collecting ingredients.

She grabbed larger quantities than she knew she needed – there was no time to measure and no room for error or being cheap. Everything she grabbed was quickly stowed in her purse as she kept a rough mental tally of the cost in her head. This was going to cost her a small fortune and she would be basically out of coin. She grabbed valerian roots, unicorn hair, bicorn horn, mandrake roots and several other ingredients. She quickly ran up and down the shelves searching for dittany and clenched her fists in frustration when she couldn’t find any. She was just about to give up and place the money on the counter when she noticed a row of jars on a shelf behind the counter.

“Perfect,” she said as she spotted the second last jar on the left which was labelled in beautiful cursive as ‘ _dittany’_ and she quickly hopped up and over the counter. The ingredient was scarce and expensive, so it wasn’t really surprising that it would be kept behind the counter along with several other more expensive ingredients – but the second her fingers touched the glass jar, a loud screeching began.

“Ah mother fucker!” Hermione cursed as she unscrewed the lid of the jar and rapidly dumped the dittany into her purse. Her ears were pounding at the sound and she could feel a dizziness settling over her. She slammed the money she had previously taken out down on the counter. She wasn’t sure if it would be enough to cover the dittany she had just taken but she did not have time to recount. If this ever ended, she would return and ensure that she paid the man back in full, but without her wand she couldn’t silence the alarm and they needed to get out before the neighbourhood heard it.

 _Of course the items on the back shelf had separate alarms you idiot!_ She screamed at herself inwardly as she threw herself back over the counter and landed with a wobble. The screeching sound from the jar was making her nauseous and severely unsteady. She suspected that the man had placed the charm on the jars so that only he could touch them and take out product for customers. _The charm is probably permanent and on there all the time_. She jammed her fingers in her ears and forced her legs to move their way toward the staircase. With each loud shriek from the jar she felt like her head was suffering from whiplash and like she had been hit with a violent bought of vertigo that made her nearly fall down and vomit all over herself. She’d almost made it to the top of the stairs when she heard a loud popping sound.

“Peter! What’s –“ the voice of another male was cut short as she saw Harry flick her wand several times while simultaneously trying to cover his ears.

“What the fuck happened?” he yelled to her as the alarm seemed to grow louder.

“A jar was charmed, I couldn’t dispel it without my wand,” she yelled back as she climbed the last step and staggered into the wall.

Their own disillusionments had worn off and she could see Harry standing at a bizarre angle as he tried to block out the sound and maintain his balance. When she got closer to Harry she glanced in the bedroom and saw that both the owl and the man were now frozen in a different position. The man had actually managed to get out of bed before Harry had immobilized him again and the owl was now laying on the ground with its wings spread – it had clearly been hit mid-flight and then dropped to the ground. _Harry’s aim with his wand is distorted_ , she realized.

“We need to go,” Harry forced out before he grabbed at his stomach with his hand. “bloody hell I’m gonna puke.”

Hermione reached her hand forward to grab for Harry but lost her balance as she uncovered her ear and instead stumbled disoriented to her left through the door of the study and fell to the floor. Her insides felt like they had just rotated ninety degrees throwing her center of gravity off and hitting her with a fresh bought of nausea. She clenched her jaw and shut her eyes tight to prevent herself from puking, knowing full well she would not be able to apparate while inside the house without splinching them into several pieces.

“Clever bastard,” she groaned through her tightly clenched jaw as she buried her face into the carpet of the study trying to stop the swimming of her head and stomach. This apothecary man was a genius, mess with someone’s senses like this – wizard or no, and there was no way they were leaving your house. She doubted that anyone tried to burgle this man.

She felt Harry grab her hand and pull her to her feet as her stomach rolled once more and she retched and vomited on the floor of the man’s study and across one of his books. Harry dragged her to the window before he lost his balance completely and fell next to the ledge.

“I think that’s quite enough,” a man’s voice boomed from the other room.

Hermione’s vision was still rolling but she could see the man who had been immobilized in bed approaching the study doorway from the hall with his wand extended and light flashing. Whoever it was that had apparated into his home had called him Peter – but Peter’s friend was still frozen in place so Peter was on his own. She could begin to feel the effects of the Polyjuice potion wearing off as she leaned against Harry who was slumped against the wall with his hand over his mouth. _Oh yes, this is just a great feeling_ , she thought sarcastically as the awful feeling of transforming back into her normal self started to hit her body while the ringing alarms in the house continued to feed her violently spinning vertigo symptoms.

She felt Harry grab her waist tightly, his hand slipping under her coat and beneath the fabric of her sweater so it came to rest on her bare scarred skin. She knew what was coming even before he gave the small tug to shift them fully in front of the still-open window.

“You think you can come into my house and steal from my store!? Who do you think you are!” the man yelled angrily as he stormed into the room and began closing the space between them quickly before he raised his lit wand to point directly in their faces.

Hermione flinched and squinted her unfocused eyes in response, forcing them to stay still while they tried to roll out of her head and upturn the contents of her now empty stomach once more. She strained them to look the man in the face, he was middle-aged – perhaps around Mr. Weasley’s age and had dark brown messy hair. Then she watched as his angry and rageful expression morphed into a look of utter disbelief and confusion.

“You can’t be Harry Potter?” the man asked incredulously as a glint of fear crossed his eyes. At the same moment Hermione heard Harry retch behind her from the nausea and felt him make a final tug around her waist.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” Hermione managed to say before Harry tugged them both backward and out the window.


	20. Chapter Twenty: Mr. Weasley - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Weasley's day out in town - a visit to Ottery St. Catchpole that yielded unexpected results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Thank you for such a warm welcome back :) <3  
> 2\. This chapter is from Mr. Weasley’s perspective. I hope that you all don’t mind, but I’m going to shake things up a bit between now and the ending by having some different POV chapters and reoccurring character features aside from Hermione and Harry.  
> The intent is to show the events and war efforts going on with the Order members and to close out a particular side plot I created.  
> 3\. Please enjoy and let me know what you think, I always read the comments and feedback and I find it really helpful to keep improving! Thanks for reading! 
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Updates on Sunday +/- a few days.

Mr. Weasley whistled happily as he strolled down the snowy main street of Ottery St. Catchpole on his way to the local post office. He had the muggle tune of _We Wish You a Merry Christmas_ stuck in his head since he first heard it walking through the town in December and it had become one of his favourites to whistle this year – much to the annoyance of Mrs. Weasley when he was at home and stealing snacks from the kitchen. The morning was crisp and beautiful, and Mr. Weasley could not help but smile at the peace he felt settle over his soul as he walked admiring the beautiful white snow and icy crystals of the quiet morning. It was days like this that gave him hope and inspired him to remain positive about the ongoing war efforts.

Things had been particularly bleak over the last few months. For starters, he had found out that his youngest son had abandoned Harry and Hermione and was now hiding out at Shell Cottage with his elder son. He knew that Ron’s absence from the Burrow was partly to avoid the wrath and badgering of his wife and partly because Ron was trying to figure out what to do next while hiding his embarrassment and shame. Secondly, Bathilda Bagshot had been found dead by two Aurors in her home in Godric’s Hollow, or well… what was left of her home. The top floor of her house had been exploded during some kind of altercation and the remains of Bathilda that they found were disturbing to say the least.

They were also dealing with trying to keep the muggle public out of the know, which was becoming increasingly difficult as more and more muggles turned up dead or went missing. The Death Eaters were growing bolder with each passing day and were acting out in public muggle areas which was difficult to conceal and resolve. Not to mention the much more frequent and highly suspicious sightings of werewolves in denser populated areas – which was a nightmare for logistics and made the Order feel as though Remus Lupin’s efforts throughout the past year trying to recruit them had been a massively wasteful effort that endangered a key member of the Order for no gain whatsoever.

Then there was the extra fun drama of his own family that seemed to never end. Aside from Ron abandoning his friends and returning home and the tension that it caused with his wife and Fred and George – there was Percy who had been a sore spot for the family for a number of years, and now Ginny who had come home at Christmas with a girlfriend, announcing that she was gay and explaining the rebellion and war efforts that _she_ had been leading with _Neville Longbottom_ of all people while at Hogwarts. That had sure spun things into a tizzy with the household and resulted in a large outburst on Christmas day that would surely go down in Weasley family history.

So far, the majority of the Order’s war efforts had been covert and under the table. The ministry was infiltrated – that was well known and a surprise to _no one_. The Daily Prophet was bought and paid for and currently run by Death Eaters, the curriculum at Hogwarts had changed, and most magical families were too afraid to do anything about it – being more interested in keeping themselves and their family members safe rather than getting involved and helping the cause. Mr. Weasley couldn’t even blame them times like this were difficult and demanded a kind of courage and bravery that most people were not accustomed too. It also demanded sacrifices, ones that most witches and wizards were not willing to make. People die in war, it had been years since the last great wizarding war and people were not eager to lay down their heads on the chopping block – especially when Harry Potter had run off on some alleged _secret mission_.

Even though Mr. Weasley didn’t know what they were up to – and Ron to his credit had still refused to say what they were doing when he returned home rather sheepishly, Arthur trusted that they were fighting the war in their own way. Likely on Dumbledore’s confidential orders. He knew that Hermione was not one to abandon a cause midway and he knew that Harry was loyal to Dumbledore to a fault, so he trusted that they were working hard at whatever it was that they were doing. However, too many others in the wizarding community they viewed Harry’s absence as a sign of the times, that Harry had gone into hiding because Voldemort had become so powerful that the war was a lost cause. People were choosing to keep their heads down and follow along instead of fight back. People were afraid. Voldemort and his followers had taken Harry’s disappearance as an opportunity and had the Daily Prophet issue article after article about how Harry had abandoned the wizarding world to return to the muggle world. They also ran several stories stating that Harry was a killer and a thief, and generally just a bad person. The amount of garbage they pumped out of that newspaper was astounding and the Ministry had officially made Harry their Number One Undesirable.

The Order had started Potter Watch through radio communication as a means to try and maintain support from the wizarding public, to reach those that still believed in the cause or were hesitant to fully support it. Their goal was to keep people informed on what was really going on while trying to show that Harry was still on their side and helping in some way – despite them having no actual idea what he was doing. So, it was difficult to keep morale up and keep people in touch with the truth when they really had no idea how Harry was helping – except that they just had _faith_ in him.

But with the cold crisp air Mr. Weasley felt refreshed and had pushed the worries and thoughts of doubt from his mind, intent on going to pick up his favourite magazine and stop by the apothecary to get some ingredients for Mrs. Weasley. She was planning to make her famous headache remedy and pepper up potions – their supplies had been ransacked heavily over the Christmas break and the twins had recently come down with a nasty head cold, so Mrs. Weasley was planning on delivering some freshly brewed pepper up to them this afternoon. It was the perfect weekend to be out and about and for the first time in ages there was no secret meeting or work that needed to be done over the weekend, so he actually had time to read some of his magazine before helping Mrs. Weasley around the house.

Mr. Weasley reached the post office and smiled as an electronic bell rang when he opened the door. _Muggles,_ he thought fondly as he stomped his boots to clear the snow and walked into the shop, _they make such neat inventions_.

“Good Morning Howard!” Mr. Weasley called cheerfully to the man tending the front counter as he walked back to the post boxes at the rear of the store.

“Good Morning Mr. Bell,” the cashier said with an amused smile on his face as Mr. Weasley strode by in his typical monthly routine.

It took Mr. Weasley several months to become comfortable with going into the post office and unlocking his post box on his own. He was always worried that someone might think he was stealing and so he used to stop at the counter to inform Howard, the clerk, of his business at the back of the store each month he went to get his magazine. Both Howard and Hermione, once she found out that this was what Mr. Weasley was doing, then explained to Mr. Weasley that it was _his_ post box and he was allowed to go and check it any time he wanted to while the post office was open and that no one would think he was stealing.

Mr. Weasley had decided to get the magazine subscription delivered under the name Alex Bell in tribute to Alexander Graham Bell the muggle inventor who create the telephone. He also got his post office box created under the same fake name. Hermione would deny it to anyone who asked her, but she had created a fake muggle license for Mr. Weasley to use as ID and had come with him to set-up the post box. And while Howard would deny it to anyone who asked him, since most other muggle store owners found Mr. Bell odd, Mr. Bell was truly his favourite customer and he quite enjoyed his visits. Even though Howard agreed that Mr. Bell was a strange man it was impossible not to enjoy his cheerful nature – or find his eagerness to hear about how ‘ _business at the post office_ ’ was going amusing. He also took great pleasure in answering Mr. Bell’s odd questions or telling him about his own hobbies – Mr. Bell always found Howard's hobbies fascinating and this made Howard smile. Over the years he had learned that Mr. Bell particularly liked tools and seemed to be a collector of them – though Howard was unsure what Mr. Bell used them for.

Mr. Weasley reached his post box and continued to whistle his song while he opened the box and grabbed the magazine. He glanced at the cover and smiled, the title on the front would surely amuse his wife and would make for good snowy day reading material. He slipped the magazine into the inside pocket of his muggle jacket – which had been extended with an undetectable extension charm so that he could carry his magazine and any other goodies he picked up while in the small town, then he made his way back to the front counter to speak to Howard.

“So Howard,” Mr. Weasley said brightly as he placed both hands gently on the top of the counter. “How’s the post business this month?”

“Oh it’s back to normal I would say,” Howard smiled as he looked over Mr. Weasley’s cheerful features. “Now that the Christmas and New Year rush is over it’s just the steady old mail and packages that we usually see. Have you gotten any new tools?”

“Ah yes! I have!” Mr. Weasley said proudly, puffing his chest out slightly. Mr. Weasley wasn’t one to brag, but he was very fond of the gift that Fred and George had given his for Christmas this year, and he did not have the chance to tell Howard about it last month. Apparently, the twins had found it while looking for new ideas for their joke shop and thought it would make a good gift. “This year for Christmas my two sons got me a jackknife!”

Mr. Weasley grinned at Howard excitedly, oblivious to the funny smile that crossed Howard’s face.

“It’s the neatest little contraption,” Mr. Weasley continued as the amusement on Howards face increased. “It has a knife of course, which is in the name so that’s obvious – but it also has all of these little miniature tools that you can pull out of the sides of it! Like clippers, a file and a wee little screwdriver!”

“That sounds wonderful Mr. Bell,” Howard said as he grinned widely. It was always refreshing to see someone enjoy the small things in life and not need huge or lavish gifts to be happy.

“Yes, it is!” Mr. Weasley beamed back. “I’ve quite enjoyed it so far, carrying it around in my pocket at home just waiting to find things to try it out on. It’s very handy.”

Mr. Weasley then said goodbye to Howard and left the post office, continuing to whistle his tune when he stepped outside and turned to head towards the apothecary. Most other wizards that he knew would have walked back to _Bits and Such,_ the small wizarding shop down the street that allowed you to apparate in and out of town using their side yard so that muggles wouldn’t notice, then apparated directly to the side yard of the apothecary. But Mr. Weasley didn’t mind the cold or the walk, he had charmed his jacket before leaving so that it would be extra warm. The walk to the apothecary was uneventful and he arrived approximately 20 minutes later, cheeks flushed from the cold and ready to get warmed up inside the store.

“Good Morning Peter,” Mr. Weasley called as he opened the door to the apothecary and stepped inside from the cold, taking a moment to vanish the snow from his boots before stepping off the door matt.

“Ah – Oh Mr. Weasley – Good Morning,” a tall dark-haired wizard said from behind the counter of the apothecary.

Peter had jumped slightly when Mr. Weasley entered the shop, he had been standing behind the counter organizing the jars on the shelf behind. Usually Peter was a well put together wizard, sharp as a tack, clever and never startled by customers entering the premises. Today though – well Peter looked a little worse for wear Mr. Weasley concluded. There was a hint of shadow under his eyes, his hair was ever so slightly dishevelled and frankly it looked like the man not been sleeping the last few nights. Mr. Weasley looked cautiously around the apothecary ensuring that no one else was inside before he spoke again.

“Everything okay there Peter?” Mr. Weasley did not drop the friendly tone of his voice, but his eyes were serious and hinted of something more. “I hope no one has come around bothering you again?”

Peter was one of the wizards fighting on the side of the light – or well, as much as he could do without losing business or getting snuffed out by Voldemort and his followers. He had not publicly taken a stance or a position in the war, but he sold Mr. Weasley and the other Order members ingredients at a discounted rate – sometimes sneaking in more rare and important ingredients free of charge. He also acted as a front for information transference between Order members when possible, giving them a means to hand over information disguised and hidden inside ingredient bottles or boxes. Due to Peter’s family relations with several large greenhouses in England he tended to have the best ingredients and if he didn’t have it, he could get it. Peter had been under immense pressure lately from the Death Eaters to either join their side or be bought out. So far Peter had managed to evade their requests and outmaneuver their plays by providing less potent ingredients, pretending to be out of certain ingredients and faking greenhouse plagues and dead crops – all the while stockpiling and storing ingredients underground for use by innocent everyday wizards or by the Order.

The Death Eater visits to Peter’s apothecary had been increasing in frequency the last few month’s and Mr. Weasley knew that it was only a matter of time until Peter either caved or disappeared. He had spoken to Peter about it only once previously with Shacklebolt’s support – they needed Peter to fold and start to supply the Death Eaters when the time was right. While they did not fancy giving the Death Eaters more resources or power, they needed people like Peter to stay alive and stay in the positions that they had. Alive Peter could still help the Order, albeit less so, but that would be better than not at all. Not to mention the fact that Mr. Weasley liked Peter, he was a good man and deserved to live.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Peter said as he tried to smooth his hair and came to rest his hands gently on the counter for support. “You know how it is – cold season – it’s been crazy busy, and I’ve been having trouble with the mandrakes again.”

Mandrakes – yes that was the code word that Peter and Arthur had decided to use when discussing the Death Eaters.

“Ah yes,” Mr. Weasley said sadly as he stood in front of the counter facing Peter. “Mandrakes have always been a handful. Have they been acting out again?”

“I’d love to say that they are only being as bad as they usually are, but this year they seem to be getting more aggressive. I have a feeling I might have to just cut my losses with them soon – especially given last night’s incident.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Mr. Weasley said sincerely, understanding that this was Peter giving him warning that he would soon be caving to the Death Eaters and they would need to stop using his shop for information trade. As per their plan they would still be able to buy ingredients like any other wizard, but no more critical information would be housed or transferred through the apothecary and ingredient _shortages_ would all but disappear. “What happened last night?” Mr. Weasley asked, nervous of what the answer might be. The Death Eaters had underhanded moves, and Mr. Weasley only hoped that no one in Peter’s family had been placed in danger.

“Oh, just a little surprise attempted break-in,” Peter said in a voice that was calmer than what his eyes showed.

“A break-in?!” Mr. Weasley could not help the incredulous tone of his voice or how his eyebrows shot up. Anyone who knew anything about Peter knew that you did not try to rob him – even the Death Eaters weren’t stupid enough to try it. This meant that either the lower level snatchers had gotten desperate and too bold for their britches, or the Order now had a brand-new problem the deal with. Either way it wasn’t good news and it made Mr. Weasley’s good mood diminish further.

“Yes, it seems that two young kids thought they were smart enough to get into my shop and steal some ingredients.” Peter fixed Mr. Weasley with an intent stare as if trying to convey some kind of message and then he continued to speak. “Luckily though I caught them and sent them on their way before they were able to take anything.”

“So, no one was hurt and you didn’t lose any supplies – that’s good – but kids Peter, that’s odd. What were they after?” Mr. Weasley asked as he tried to work out what it was that Peter was trying to say.

“Well,” Peter hesitated slightly and glanced at the shop door before he started to idly shuffle things around on the counter, tidying and rearranging the containers that sat there. “I wouldn’t say no one got hurt – there were minor injuries before I sent them away – but yes, nothing was taken, I was able to balance my inventory books over the last few days and confirm it – I’m afraid that’s why I look a little tired – I went through my supplies to make sure that there were no shortages of anything.”

Mr. Weasley nodded in understanding. The Death Eaters had been coming around and checking on the inventory of Peter’s shop for the last year – ever since Peter had started helping the Order by pretending to be out of stock or having supply issues. Based on Peter’s appearance he had been up all night for the last few days _adjusting_ his inventory books, not checking them. That meant that whoever was here left with supplies _and_ Peter must have let them. Peter had shared some of the security measures he had on the apothecary with Mr. Weasley when they first started working together and Mr. Weasley knew that it would be highly unlikely that anyone got away unless Peter let them.

“Well that’s good news,” Mr. Weasley said placing a fake smile on his lips as he watched Peter pull a bag out from behind the counter. “Did you alert the authorities?”

“No, I didn’t,” Peter said as he placed the bag carefully on the counter and pulled out a rather large ledger that Mr. Weasley knew he kept his sales records in. “They were just kids, underage in fact, I didn’t want to bother the ministry with what was surely just a dare gone wrong – you know how kids are. But of course, the racket my alarms made did draw some _attention_ so I did already have some conversations with the Ministry and assured them there was no cause for concern.”

“Well that’s good,” Mr. Weasley said knowingly. The Death Eaters had already come by to see Peter – likely the Death Eaters that functioned within the Ministry. Peter had clearly managed to just scrape himself out of a mess and was under watch due to the suspicious events. Their time working together closely was over almost effectively immediately. _But who was it that Peter let take supplies last night_? Mr. Weasley wondered.

“I have your winter order ready,” Peter said as he pushed the large brown bag toward Mr. Weasley and grabbed his quill. “All the ingredients that Molly will need to make her headache potion and pepper up brew – make sure to thank Molly for owling me with her list ahead of time. With the shortages I’ve been experiencing it really helps me organize and make sure each customer gets what they need.”

“It’s no problem,” Mr. Weasley said as he pulled some coins from his pocket to pay for the supplies. “Let’s just hope that things improve soon, so the shortages don’t go on for another year.”

“Yes,” Peter said with a small smile. “Let’s hope.”

Just then the door to the apothecary opened and in walked Selwyn, one of Yaxley’s lackeys in the Magical Law Enforcement Department.

“Morning Peter,” Selwyn grinned widely as he strolled through the apothecary toward the counter, not bothering to vanish the snow from his boots before he stepped off the matt.

“Good morning Selwyn,” Peter said with a false smile and tightened jaw.

“And what do we have here – Mr. Weasley!” Selwyn’s voice was rough and held a reserved sort of crazy to it that only a true Death Eater could manage. “What brings you into town on such a – snowy, snowy morning?”

“Good morning Selwyn,” Mr. Weasley said tightly while holding the bag that Peter had given him. “Just getting some supplies for pepper up potion I’m afraid – round of winter illness seems to have hit the family.”

“Ah!” Selwyn said as he closed the distance and stood too close for comfort at the counter. “What a shame, it’s always unfortunate when those you love – are not well.”

“Too true,” Mr. Weasley said as he accepted the small amount of change that Peter held out to him, noticing the crooked smile and intense stare Selwyn fixed Peter with as he spoke his last words. “Thankfully though, Peter here was able to supply what we needed – and we should be set for the winter.”

“How fortunate,” Selwyn said as his eyes shifted to the bag in Mr. Weasley’s hands and he glared suspiciously at it. “As it so happens, I’m also here to collect on some much-needed ingredients – that I’m sure, Peter will be able to supply, though it is unfortunate that you purchased so much dittany last month, as I was only able to buy such a small amount of it this morning.”

“Well,” Mr. Weasley said without missing a beat and knowing full well that he had not purchase any dittany from Peter last month. “I’m afraid I had some trouble with a misused muggle artifact last month that ended rather poorly and with Fred and George’s line of business – well let’s just say there were a few cuts larger than scratches that needed to be healed.”

“I’m sure,” Selwyn growled as his eyes narrowed.

“But Peter is the best,” Mr. Weasley continued as nonchalantly as he could muster, glancing at Peter, looking to see if he wanted support – but he was met only with a small smile and the slightest shake of a head. So, Mr. Weasley gave the most reassuring smile he could muster before taking his leave. “I’m sure he will have more in stock soon though – I best be off to give this to Molly, she has lots to brew this afternoon. Have a good day.”

Mr. Weasley turned and headed toward the shop door, resisting the urge to turn around and look back at Peter knowing full well that it would be suspicious. His insides twisted slightly at the lie that he had just told – he would need to tell Molly and the boys so that everyone was on the same page and perhaps even fudge some of his own records from work to account for an imaginary injury. As much as he hated leaving Peter at the hands of someone like Selwyn, he knew that the longer he stayed the worse it would be – and that frankly if Peter was to be killed for whatever happened last night, it would have already happened. No, Peter was not in immediate danger, Selwyn was just there to close out whatever agreement or threat that he has issued earlier that morning. The question that was truly plaquing Mr. Weasley’s mind was why did Peter coverup the loss of dittany – how much could it have been? And for the people who broke in, why did they need it? Dittany was almost exclusively used in healing potions, so who was that injured?

-x-x-

Mr. Weasley entered the safety of his home and let out a sigh. The light and carefree morning he had was over and he could feel the weight of reality settle back on his shoulders. The only ease that he felt while in his own house was that the Burrow was a safe zone, thanks to the protections added by Dumbledore, Alastor and the other Order members. He could actually speak freely while inside the protection spells without fear of being overheard. With that said he was fully aware that the house was still being watched, so they never had conversations outside of the home.

He could hear Mrs. Weasley upstairs, probably putting away the clothes she had been washing before he left that morning. He didn’t bother calling out to her to tell her that he was home – she would already know, and frankly he felt a bit like his energy had been drained from the exchange at Peter’s store. Instead he placed the bag from the apothecary on the kitchen counter and began taking out the potion ingredients, placing them on the counter for Mrs. Weasley to use and consolidate with the pre-existing ingredients they had. As his hand touched a small jar of bicorn horn he felt the slightest tingle in his fingers and he froze. That was the method that Peter and him had established for passing information inside potion ingredient containers. They were spelled to vibrate slightly when the person the information was for touched the container, so they knew where to look – it was Peter’s own design.

He quickly took out the remainder of the ingredients and then returned to the bicorn horn container, unscrewing it carefully and dumping the contents out into a small bowl. Buried within the powder was a piece of paper so tiny you might have dismissed it for lint if you weren’t looking for it – but Mr. Weasley knew what he was looking for. He enlarged the paper and quickly began reading – the colour draining from his face as he went.

Peter had left him a note describing the evening events that occurred on the 4th of February – and now Mr. Weasley understood why Peter had hidden the robbery and ultimately why he had decided to cave to the Death Eater’s demands and stop putting up a fight. Harry and a female companion, who Mr. Weasley assumed must have been Hermione, had broken into his apothecary during the middle of the night and ‘ _stolen’_ (Peter specifically noted that they actually left money for the items they took) a vast number of potion ingredients. The majority of the ingredients were commonly used in healing potions, blood replenishers and other medical remedies. What was concerning was the quantity that they took and that they had broken in while under the disguise of Polyjuice potion – Peter realized this when he noticed that he boy he saw in the hallway did not match the boy he saw in his study. Harry and Hermione had immobilized Peter and his owl while they gathered ingredients, and they actually managed to escape his house by falling out the second-floor window before Peter could stop them. Peter noted that while he did not manage to get a look at them before they disappeared, by the time he had gotten to the window they were gone – he did hear a rather loud thump after their exit and he was concerned that they may have been injured. Thankfully Marvin, Peter’s brother, had been immobilized during the exchange in the study and did not know that it was Harry Potter who had broken into the house.

Due to the audible alarms that Peter uses, it only took a short time for Yaxley to _hear_ about the ordeal and send over some Death Eaters to investigate and find out what happened. Peter barely managed to change his ledger to account for the missing ingredients before they arrived, and he apologized for bringing Mr. Weasley into the mess by stating that he had purchased a rather large amount of dittany the previous month. Since then Peter had been dealing with much more aggressive pressure from the Death Eaters who had become increasingly suspicious that someone with such notorious alarms would have been willing to let some ‘ _kids’_ go after an attempted robbery without reporting it. As a result, Peter had been spending his evenings the last few days putting together some final ingredient packages for the Order, sending them out with his owl disguised under a disillusionment spell, removing any Order stored information and returning it and preparing to become even more of a pawn in the war.

Mr. Weasley heard his wife enter the room and he briefly contemplated burning the note in his hand and not telling Mrs. Weasley about Harry coming to Ottery St. Catchpole with Hermione. She would be upset to know that Harry and Hermione may have been injured and she would be even more concerned regarding the ingredients that they had taken. After the fit she had at Christmas with Ginny, Mr. Weasley had spent the previous month desperately trying to keep any upsetting news from Mrs. Weasley’s ears. Perhaps it was traditional or old fashioned of him, but he could not help but want to protect his wife – though she didn’t need his protection at all. She was a fiery, brave, bold and strong woman who ironically, despite his efforts to keep her safe, often was the member of the household that spent the most time protecting the rest of the family and their friends. He sighed inwardly, he would have to tell his wife about the note, there was no way he would be able to tell her that they needed to potentially lie about purchasing so much dittany from Peter without her asking other questions. And while Mr. Weasley would withhold information from Mrs. Weasley from time to time – he never lied to her, so he wouldn’t give her false excuses about the cover up.

“Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley said in a friendly voice as she rounded the table to join him by the counter. “Did you get all of the supplies from Peter’s – I owled him in advance telling him you’d be there Saturday, so he should have had it ready for you–“

Mrs. Weasley’s face fell when she came to stand next to her husband and she saw that he was holding a piece of paper in his hands and looking rather at a loss for words.

“What’s going on Arthur?” She asked immediately. Mrs. Weasley could always smell trouble, shenanigans, secret Order dealings and just about anything else that someone might want to keep quiet.

“Molly,” Mr. Weasley started slowly as he forced a smile on his face. “Everything’s fine – just there was a bit of an incident in the town this week that has forced Peter’s hand – I’m afraid that he is going to be settling on some terms with the Death Eaters this weekend and won’t be able to help us as much as before.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Weasley frowned as she looked genuinely concerned. “That’s unfortunate – Peter is a good man. What happened – is he alright?”

“He’s alright don’t worry,” Mr. Weasley nodded as he folded the note in half. “He actually gave me this note explaining what happened.”

“Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley warned when her husband paused, she knew that he was stalling. “What happened?”

“Well, it seems that there was a break-in attempt at Peter’s store – and well it was successful, so Peter needs us to cover-up the loss of some inventory, specifically dittany – so if anyone asks we bought a rather large amount last month due to a misused muggle artifact incident, and for Fred and George’s injuries during their experiments.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Weasley said without hesitation and she nodded firmly. “I’ll tell the twins when I drop off their pepper up this afternoon. It’s probable that they had an injury last month anyways, and that they just didn’t tell us about it and patched it up themselves – but Arthur – a break-in? At Peter’s?! No one breaks into Peter’s – why weren’t they caught?”

“Well… Peter did sort of catch them,” Mr. Weasley hesitated once more. “But he let them leave.”

“Well that makes no sense, Peter has always been very strict about how he handles robberies. Why did he let them go?”

“Because it was Harry and Hermione.”

Mr. Weasley watched as the colour drained from his wife’s face and then he passed her the letter to read.

-x-x-

Almost two hours later Mr. Weasley fell into the large old chair in his workshop and let out a sigh of exhaustion. _This war is aging me too quickly_ , he thought as he rubbed the bridge of his nose gently and tried to ignore the ache in his back. He reached his other hand down to fish out the magazine he had almost forgotten about from his pocket. As he expected Mrs. Weasley had reacted with minor hysterics to the news of Harry and Hermione breaking into the apothecary and she was deeply concerned over why they needed so many ingredients for healing potions. He had sat with her at the dinner table having an early lunch while he relayed over the happenings of his visit to the town, his coded conversation with Peter and they both reviewed the note to try and speculate why Harry and Hermione chose to break into Peter’s store. Of all the apothecary’s in England that they could have chosen, why did they risk coming so close to the Burrow – it didn’t make any sense. After a while they gave up trying to figure it out and Mrs. Weasley started on the pepper up potion, feeling the need to complete it quickly so she could deliver it to the twins along with their cover-up story regarding the dittany.

Mr. Weasley shook his head as he placed the magazine on his workbench and listened to the sounds of his wife bustling away upstairs. They had both agreed that when she delivered it to the twins this afternoon, she would tell them that they injured themselves last month and she provided them with essence of dittany. However, they both concluded that no one else was to know about Harry and Hermione’s visit to Ottery St. Catchpole. Whatever the reason was – it was obviously intended to be a secret and they had not meant to get caught based on how Peter had described their desperate escape efforts. So, the fewer people who knew about it the better.

He stared blankly at the magazine cover and couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth when he read the title again. Though, if he was being honest, he really didn’t even feel like reading the magazine right now. With all of the information that he had just received sitting down and reading seemed like a waste of time – but Mrs. Weasley had insisted saying that he still needed to take a moment for himself now and again. Begrudgingly he made to flip open the cover while making a mental compromise that he would only skim the main article before returning upstairs to help with the potions. He was horrible at potions, but he was decent at ingredient prep.

As the cover page flipped open he saw a blank white page, almost like a piece of paper had been pasted on top of the first page. He ran his finger over it to see if it was an insert – perhaps an ad for another muggle magazine, he had received some of those in previous issues. But the blank white page was stuck firmly to the first page and there was no seam that he could pry at. His brow had just furrowed into a confused frown when suddenly text began to appear on the blank page.

Mr. Weasley dropped the magazine down on the desk and had his wand out in the blink of an eye – but as he skimmed the text that had appeared on the page a huge smile split across his face.

“Of course,” Mr. Weasley said quietly as he placed his wand down on the desk and picked up the magazine again. “This is why you two came to Ottery St. Catchpole – you truly are the brightest witch of your age.”

He quickly flipped the magazine open to the center and took out the coin that Hermione had left him before grabbing a quill from the holder to his right. He flipped back to the front of the magazine to re-read her instructions, making sure that he understood them fully and had them memorized. He had read them over four times before the ink started to vanish and the edges of the white paper insert started to curl slightly as it caught fire and burnt away – without damaging the rest of the magazine. He grinned again. _What a clever, clever witch_ , he thought as he flipped to the pages of the magazine that Hermione had indicated were reserved for him to write on. Then he dipped his quill in ink…


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Oh my goodness, the positive feedback on Mr. Weasley’s chapter was so nice to read! It makes me incredibly happy that you enjoyed the last chapter and didn’t mind reading from a different POV – Mr. Weasley will be featured again soon :D along with some other Order members.  
> 2\. This Chapter we are jumping back to Hermione and Harry and seeing where they left off :) I apologize that this one is a bit shorter than normal, I had trouble drawing a line in the plot and this seemed the best place.  
> 3\. Please enjoy and let me know what you think, I always read the comments and feedback and I find it very helpful to keep improving! (sincerely I do, and I mean it!)   
> And as always, I love you all! Thank you for reading! <3 <3 <3 ~ TT
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> I’m sure everyone knows the general warnings by now…I’ll only add them at the top for chapters that have content that is difficult or possibly upsetting.  
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

_“I’m sorry for the mess,” Hermione managed to say before Harry tugged them both backward and out the window……_

Bitter cold was the first thing that hit Hermione as they rolled backward out the window of the apothecary and into the night. It was followed closely by a fresh round of nausea from the momentum of their fall and for a brief moment she thought that she might throw up mid-air. Her brain was rolling and spinning from the vertigo the security alarms within the apothecary – but despite her addled state of mind she could feel Harry’s grip tighten around her waist and she knew that their impact with the ground imminent. They wouldn’t be able to apparate away. They didn’t have skin-to-skin contact, but more importantly their senses were still too distorted from the alarms. She was going to land right on top of Harry, he had made sure of that with the way he pulled her out the window, lining them up so that he would take the majority of the impact. Despite the plentiful snow on the ground below she knew that they could both be drastically injured if they landed wrong, and that even if they landed ‘ _right’_ they would still be injured – just to a lesser degree.

Hermione closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, forcing her brain to focus on the stinging cold against her face and concentrated her senses before she cast an extremely poor nonverbal, wandless spell to slow their fall. It worked – sort of.

Harry hit the snow-covered ground with a loud thud despite the slight reduction in their speed and Hermione felt the wind get knocked out of her as she collided with his body and the ground. _Fuck that hurts,_ she screamed inwardly as her lungs tried desperately to fill with air. At least the impact helped to jar her senses back to some sort of usable state. The freezing wind that whipped harshly over her face also provided a firm slap back to reality. Harry moved quickly beneath her, pushing her up into a sitting position and moving in close behind her. He’d pulled the invisibility cloak out from her purse and was hurriedly throwing it over them. Hermione could hear his labored breath on her ear and the small groan that escaped his lips as he moved. _He’s broken a rib_ , Hermione thought as she grabbed the end of the cloak he’d tossed over her and spread it out to cover their legs.

Once covered they sat unmoving on the ground, Harry had Hermione’s wand aimed up at the window above them and they both watched it carefully with bated breath – waiting for the apothecary man to peer outside. Hermione ignored the snow that was now melting down her back and burning at her skin. She forced her eyes to stop rolling and to focus on the open window above while she clenched Harry’s free hand tightly. The apothecary man appeared at the window quickly, he’d obviously been startled by their grand exit and this had afforded them the time to take cover under the cloak – but only just.

The man was staring down to where they had fallen, a look of disbelief prominently featured on his face when he realized that the space was empty – or at least it looked that way. Hermione knew that the man was shocked, no one would be able to apparate so quickly after having their senses ruthlessly assaulted by his alarms – but yet, there was no one on the ground. The man began craning his neck and looking out into the neighborhood and backyard trying to see where they, the _thieves_ , had gone. She almost thought she spotted a small smile on his lips before he shook his head in astonishment, confirming that he had not spotted them, and then ducked back into the house. The second the man closed the window and retreated from view Harry and Hermione both let out the breath they had been holding and slumped into each other.

“Are you okay?” Harry gritted out against her ear, still unmoving behind her, wand hand now wrapped tightly around her waist.

“Mostly,” Hermione answered in a low whisper. “We need to move away from here, get our senses in order and then get the hell out of this town. Are you okay?”

“Probably,” Harry groaned as he tried and failed to pull himself off the ground. “I think my ribs are broken, it feels like a fucking hippogriff is sitting on them – it’s making important things like breathing difficult.”

“Oh they’re for sure broken,” Hermione snorted at Harry’s attempt at humor but frowned quickly as she stood painfully on shaky legs. Reaching her hand out to help Harry off the ground she looked quickly over their shoulder to make sure they were still alone. “It’s just a matter of how many.”

It took a moment and an extremely pained expression from Harry for him to upright himself with Hermione’s help. She carefully stepped up beside him and slung his arm over her shoulder before beginning the slow process of moving toward a large bush at the edge of the apothecary property. They needed to leave now, like right _now_ – but to do that she needed to mend Harry’s ribs so they didn’t puncture his lung while they apparated. And to heal his ribs she needed to make sure her brain wasn’t riding the puke train express that they had just been on inside the apothecary. Harry vanished their steps as they went and a full half a minute later she tucked them into the side of the bush against the fence and out of the wind. Harry leaned gratefully against the wood and waited while Hermione rooted around in her bag and pulled out two small bottles of pepper up potion – handing one to Harry to drink.

“Drink this,” she nodded to the potion she held out. “It should help get your head back on your shoulders straight and we should be focused enough to be able to apparate out of here after I fix your ribs.”

“Gladly,” Harry groaned, as he clutched his stomach against the nausea that had overcome him from their movements.

They both downed the liquid and stood still waiting for the effects to take hold. It didn’t take long before Hermione could feel the warmth creep through her bones, radiating from her stomach and forcing out the cold. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, feeling the dizziness within her head subside. When she opened them Harry was starting to look better too, he was still slightly hunched over from the broken ribs, but his ghastly expression and clenched jaw had lessened.

“Okay, let’s get you patched up and then get the fuck out of here,” Hermione whispered as she took her wand from Harry and cast a quick diagnostic spell. “I don’t fancy being hunted down – which will probably start any second now and – oh Harry, dammit, you broke four – some of them twice.”

Hermione grimaced as she placed a gentle hand on Harry side to hold him steady while she aimed her wand.

“The good news is that your internal organs are okay, this might sting a bit,” Hermione cast the spell and saw Harry grimace as his ribs realigned and mended. “You’re going to be sore for the next few days though.”

“That’s fine, but what about you?” Harry reached for the wand and cast his own diagnostic spell on Hermione pausing only for a brief second when he heard the sound of multiple voices at the front of the house.

“Harry we’re running out of time, we need to go,” Hermione whispered urgently as she heard foot steps approaching from over her shoulder. She could make out the voice of the apothecary man speaking.

“Not until I know that you’re not going to kill yourself apparating us away,” Harry said firmly as he quickly skimmed his eyes over the results looking for anything life threatening.

“What the fuck is going on Peter!” a deep gruff voice called from the front of the house, Hermione recognized it as one of the men they had seen talking on the street earlier.

“Okay you’re good, let’s go,” Harry nodded as he finished his examination.

Hermione ripped the invisibility cloak off of them and stuffed it into her purse as she heard the voices and the sound of snow crunching growing louder in the side yard. She heard a growl directly behind her the moment she felt Harry’s hand on the back of her neck and managed only to glimpse briefly at the outline of four people and a creature rounding the corner of the house before Harry apparated them away into the night.

-x-x-

“Harry!”

Harry looked up from the book he was reading over to the potions lab where Hermione was waving him over excitedly. The tent was warm, despite the absolute sub-zero temperatures of the Northern coast of Scotland where they were currently hiding out. Hermione had adjusted the potion lab barrier to allow more heat into the main tent area, without the fumes, to help battle the frigid cold. _Why waste the free heat?_ she’d exclaimed excitedly when she made the modifications to the barriers the day before. It had been three day since their trip to Ottery St. Catchpole and break in adventure at the apothecary. Hermione was now brewing up a storm, making as many potions as she could with the ingredients that they had managed to collect. She was standing in the potions lab wearing small black stretchy shorts and a loose skimpy black tank top similar to her last potion making outfit. The oversized arm holes of her shirt showed the blue bra she had on at the sides, and it also acted as ventilation for the ridiculous heat in the room she was working. Her hair was piled on top of her head with four clips and a deep purple bruise covered the back of her right shoulder and upper back.

It looked similar to the bruises that Harry was sporting on his lower back and upper left shoulder. The fall out the apothecary window, while it didn’t injure them too severely, had indeed left them extremely sore and bruised. They’d been coating themselves with bruise salve, but neither one of them wanted to waste too much of their hard-earned supplies. So, they opted to let these injuries heal a bit more naturally and to limit the chances of them being noticed or intruded upon by hiding out in the most unbearable weather conditions on the entire island. They hoped that this would mean that they would not be disturbed while they healed, so they could brew potions in peace and relax for a day – or an hour, or literally whatever life would spare them.

Harry hauled himself off his bunk with a groan and made his way over to the potions lab, removing his sweater before he entered the magically encased area – he’d gone in there yesterday wearing his sweater and that had been a definite mistake. It was like a humid tropical forest, and the intense heat and fumes had made him feel sick. _Not today potions lab_ , he thought with a smirk as he walked through the barrier sans shirt, _I’ve planned ahead and will defeat you._

“What is it?” He asked as he crossed the invisible barrier and stepped into their own little amazon rainforest. The hanging dried ingredients and leaves really set the vibe.

“We have contact,” Hermione was positively beaming as she held up her journal for Harry to see.

Harry’s eyes widened as he saw the jumbled characters inscribed on her journal page and he laughed in disbelief as more started to appear.

“You charmed it, so it works in real time,” Harry ran a hand through his hair and shook his head in amusement. “Of course you did.”

Hermione grinned proudly at him and placed the book back on the counter, shuffling over so Harry could come and stand next to her.

“I sure did! He is literally writing to us _right_ now! Harry I can’t believe this worked – I – with everything that’s happened – I thought surely something would – I just can’t, I –“ Hermione stopped talking and gripped the edge of the lab table tightly.

“Hey,” Harry said softly as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her gently into his side. He could see that she was fighting back tears, her brow was furrowed, her eyes were glassy, and she was clearly feeling overwhelmed.

Frankly Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t feel it too. The tightness in his chest wasn’t just from the bruising and the slight prickle at the corner of his eyes made his throat tighten as he thought about everything that had happened thus far. After everything it felt unreal to be seeing letters from a friend appear on a page, that this endeavor had truly worked. He leaned down and kissed the top of Hermione’s head before nuzzling his face into the nest of hair she had piled on her head. He could feel her shoulders quiver and the small sound of her sniffling next to him.

“I’m sorry – I’m being stupid,” Hermione mumbled as she wiped her eyes across the back of her hands. “Just we’ve been out here alone for months, and with everything that had happened – Harry we’ve not been so lucky.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Harry snorted as a chuckle escaped him. He pulled away so he could see her face and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “You’re not being stupid Hermione – I know exactly how you feel. It’s overwhelming, to finally be in touch with someone, it feels like a big step in the right direction of getting through all this.”

“Yeah,” Hermione nodded with a small smile before picking up her journal once more and looking at the inscription. “It looks like he’s done – I told him to sign each transmission at the bottom with a symbol so I would know when he is done writing, that way we don’t cut each other off. He’s used it here, see? I’ll decode this and we can see what he wrote.”

Harry waiting patiently while Hermione grabbed her coin and quickly skimmed through the note from Mr. Weasley before tapping it with her wand and temporarily enchanting the message to be visible in its decoded form – the spell would only last for a few minutes before returning to its original state.

Then they both leaned over the page in her journal and read:

~

_Hermione you are brilliant!_

_I’m sorry for such an informal start to our first communication in months, but my gosh, I had to write it! Sometimes I forget just how clever you are and then something like this happens and I’m left speechless and in awe by your consistent ability to blow my mind. Well done my dear girl, well done!_

_Now on to a proper format…_

_Dear Hermione and Harry,_

_I am so glad to know that you two are safe and alive! Please know that you have been in my and Molly’s thoughts every day since the day you left the Burrow, and that we worry about you constantly (so do the other Order members and the rest of the family!). I know that you cannot tell me what you are up to and I respect that, but if there is ever anything that I can do to help you in your mission then please do not hesitate to let me know and I will do everything that I can!_

_Perhaps it is too presumptuous of me to think it, but judging by the level of effort you extended to establish this line of communication there must be something that you need or require; or you have critical information that must be shared – just let me know what it is and Molly and I will support you!_

_I must also be honest that I am a bit concerned for your wellbeing – there was a break-in this past week at the apothecary in Ottery St. Catchpole. The man that owns and operates the business is named Peter, he is a friend to me and the Order. He informed me of the goods that you took and that he thought it might be you. There is no need to worry – Peter is a good man and he and I are working to coverup any fallout from the break-in. But I have to ask, are you two okay? Many of the ingredients that you took are for medicinal potions, specifically for blood loss and healing wounds - both Molly and I are concerned with the shear quantities that you took. Have you been injured? Is there anything we can do to help?_

_While Molly knows about the potion ingredients that were stolen (it’s a long story but there was no way around that) I have yet to tell her about this journal. As it was addressed and entrusted directly to me, I have kept this new means of communication secret – I understand the importance of limiting knowledge for the sake of safety and therefore will continue to do so unless you tell me otherwise._

_Now, I know that this must be a sore topic for you both, and frankly I considered not bringing it up – but I figure that there is no reason to dance around the topic like a centaur would. While sometimes finesse and delicate words are useful on touchy topics, in this case I hope you both know that I consider you members of the Weasley family, that you both always have my continued support, and that therefore I feel we can speak candidly. There is no easy way to say this, so I would just rather get it out of the way – to rip the band aid off as the muggles would say!_

_I am so sorry on behalf of my son._

_When Molly and I found out that Ron had left you two we honestly did not know what to think and Ron faced some harsh criticism from the two of us. He never told us why he left, but he is ashamed and regretful of his actions. To this day I do not know what happened between you three and I want to assure you that Ron has refused to speak about what you are doing, so your secret mission is still safe. To say that both Molly and I were disappointed in him and his actions would be an understatement – and it fueled the fire of what I think might be, the most eventful Weasley family Christmas that has ever occurred._

_Please do not mistake my breaching the subject as a plea for you to forgive my son or excuse his behaviour. I wasn’t there to witness what happened and even if I was – it is not my place to request that you forgive him or accept his apology. Instead, the reason I wanted to bring this up is because I want you both to know that you are so loved. That regardless of whatever happened between you and Ron, and regardless of whatever will happen between you – Harry, Hermione – you both will always have a place in our family and a seat at our table._

_With love,_

_Arthur Weasley_

~

This time Hermione was unable to keep her emotions reigned in and Harry heard a muffled choke burst from her lips before she clapped a hand over her mouth. Harry instinctively pulled her into his arms and let her burry her face into his bare chest as she sobbed. Mr. Weasley had done what they both had been dreading – he had brought up the topic of Ron.

Harry had discussed it with Hermione the other day while they waited for the weekend to approach and rest their sore muscles and bruises. They both adored Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Harry loved them, they had all but adopted him into the family and they acted like the parents he never had. He knew that Hermione had a close bond with them as well – and that after she obliviated her own parents she had come to rely on them as parental figures even more. They truly wanted to believe that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were logical people who would, at the very least, try to understand what happened between Ron and them instead of blindly supporting their son and blaming his actions on them.

The trouble was though, especially in the wizarding world, blood was thicker than water and Harry had no idea what Ron might have said when he inevitably returned home. He didn’t know if Ron threw himself and Hermione under the bus or lied about what happened. He didn’t know how Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would take the news of Ron’s return. It had been plaguing the back of Harry’s mind for the last three days and he knew that it was eating away at Hermione. They were worried. Worried about being rejected from the only remnants of a family they had left. Worried that they’d lost their home within this mess of a war. Of course they knew that the Weasley family would still _help_ them if it was needed, the Weasley’s stood firmly on the side of the light and against blood prejudice so their support in the war efforts was never questioned. But what they didn’t know was how their relationship with Ron would affect their personal relationships with the rest of the family.

 _Shit, did Mr. Weasley ever dispel that concern_ , Harry thought as he buried his face in Hermione’s hair and felt his chest tighten. The unconditional love that Mr. Weasley had poured into that letter made his soul ache. It _hurt_. It hurt somewhere so deep down and so fundamental that it made his heart feel like it was exploding into a million pieces from being overwhelmed. After losing Sirius, after losing Dumbledore, and the devastating crack in his relationship with Ron – Harry really didn’t have many people left. The Weasley’s were the only family he had outside of Hermione and he was so relieved that he wasn’t going to lose them over a stupid feud with a douche who chose his own comfort and safety over doing the right thing. _Mr. Weasley is a great man_.

He stood holding Hermione for several minutes until they both calmed down and composed themselves enough to reread the letter and discuss a response. He kissed Hermione gently before she started her reply, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb and resting his forehead against hers. He felt like he could breathe freely again – despite the heaviness in his bruised lungs.

“Hermione,” Harry said softly as he pulled away from her and brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. His heart felt like it was exploding with happiness and love. “Thank you for being here with me, thank you for being so bloody brilliant all the time.”

Hermione grinned at him and kissed him once before she picked up her quill to reply to Mr. Weasley.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be Harry,” she said as she dipped her quill in ink.

~

_Dear Mr. Weasley,_

_I am very glad to see that you not only got your magazine but that you also found my note and were able to follow the instructions – I knew that you would understand the use of a cypher!_

_You’re too kind with your praise, the charm work to set-up the magazine was rather simple actually, and I think that’s part of why it will work so well!_

_You are correct in assuming that we do require your help and that is indeed why we traveled to Ottery St. Catchpole to modify your magazine and set up this line of communication. I want to first assure you that both Harry and I are fine – I won’t lie to you, we have had some unfortunate mishaps along the way that resulted in some rough times. However, at the current moment we are both healthy and uninjured (besides some minor bruises from the apothecary break-in and escape). Please be reassured that we are safe and that there is no need to worry!_

_We stopped at the apothecary to restock several ingredients that we need to finish making several medicinal potions. As I mentioned, we’ve had a few run-ins with trouble, and we’ve found that having extra stock of some basic healing potions is helpful to ensure our success. Unfortunately, due to the… unusual nature of Peter’s alarms I must admit that I was a bit disoriented while gathering the ingredients and that I definitely grabbed more than what I had planned. That said, with how our luck has been I’m glad to have it and be prepared for the worst. _

_If you get the opportunity, please apologize to Peter on mine and Harry’s behalf. We did not know who owned the apothecary or that they were working with you and the Order. We believe it is best to try and limit the involvement of anyone else in our mission – not only for their safety, but for ours. So, we have been trying to keep a low profile during our supply gathering. It was never our intent to cause such a ruckus at his store and it was certainly not our intent to leave you and Peter (an ally) to clean up the fallout. For that we would like to sincerely apologize – I hope that the situation is not too bad? Also, if I was short on the money that I left for the ingredients please tell Peter to keep track of what I owe him, I will pay him back when this is all over and apologize to him in person._

_But back to the reason why we set up this line of communication – I was hoping that you still have a copy of or still have access to the antivenom recipe for Nagini’s poison. **Please don’t worry when you read this!** Neither Harry nor I were bitten or infected, we are both completely safe and there is no need to worry. I would however, like to brew a batch of the antivenom to have on hand in case of an emergency and getting into St. Mungo’s to get the recipe was simply out of the question. While I have no real evidence to support my suspicion, I’m concerned that St. Mungo’s may be compromised, and I suspect that it is being watched by you know who’s followers so we couldn’t risk breaking in. Would you be able to give us a copy of the antivenom recipe?_

_I appreciate your understanding on the importance of keeping information secure and with limited distribution. At this time, Harry and I would ask that you continue to keep this line of communication secret and that you do not disclose it to anyone else. It is not because Harry or myself do not trust the members of the Order, it’s just that Harry and I have been having a difficult time keeping a low profile and accomplishing what we must. The fewer people who know anything about our actions or whereabouts the better. When this is all over, we promise to explain everything – and it will make sense at the end. Until then, we appreciate that you’ve kept this secret to help keep us safe._

_I don’t have the words to describe how we felt after reading your letter. Mr. Weasley, for the past seven years you have been like a second father to me, and you have been the father figure to Harry that he never got the opportunity to have. It means more than words could ever describe that you would continue to support and welcome us into your family. Please know that Harry and I love you and Molly and all of the Weasley family dearly – and that we view you as our family. It means the world to me that you would still welcome us into your home despite what has transpired and I’m thankful that Ron has kept his word and kept our mission a secret. _

_While our resources and abilities are limited with the position that we are in while completing this mission, please know that your extension of help is not only appreciated, it is reciprocated. If there is anything that you need from us please let us know and we too will try to do everything that we can to help._

_With lots of love,_

_Hermione and Harry_

_~_

Hermione signed the note with the symbol indicating that her message was complete before smiling at Harry and returning to prep more ingredients. As she worked Harry made them a late lunch and they both took a short break to eat in comfortable silence. They were simply too emotionally and physically exhausted to talk and so they quietly enjoyed the odd sort of peace that settled over the tent instead. They were camped on top of a cliff where a blizzard raged violently outside, the wind screamed as it rattled the magically secure tent frame – but inside the fire crackled warmly, the mood was light and free, and the two of them felt safe.

Harry sat comfortably in his bunk after cleaning up the lunch dishes, reading his defensive magic book while he waited for Mr. Weasley to respond. Hermione had just finished prepping the last of the ingredients she needed before she started her next potion when the coded ink in her journal from Mr. Weasley appeared. It took several minutes more minutes for Mr. Weasley to finish writing his response and Hermione fiddled with the coin in her hand anxiously hoping that he would be able to assist them with the antivenom recipe. When Mr. Weasley finally coded the note as complete Hermione hastily grabbed her wand and began to decode the text, smiling as she read until her eye brow arched up.

“Harry,” she said as she approached his bunk holding the journal in her hands. “Do you have any thoughts on where we might find a large bulldog between two and a half and three years old that’s last meal was chicken?”

“Uhh,” Harry raised a confused eyebrow, it was certainly not the question he had been expecting to hear when Hermione approached him. “My Aunt Marge breeds bull dogs… It’s possible she could have one?”

“Good,” Hermione said with a surprised smile, she had not been expecting him to actually have a response and was thinking they may need to scour the pet stores of the muggle world. “Because we need eight ounces of its drool for the antivenom.”

To be continue…

P.S. I was looking at my story outline… and holy shit guys… this story is going to be so god damned long >_< how I ever thought that this would be under 100k words seems ridiculous to me now.

Well I hope that you have all buckled in for the long ride, brought some snacks and don’t mind lengthy thick fanfics. It’s looking like there will be anywhere from 14 to 20+ more chapters needed to finish the story (depending on how detailed I go), which is more than I anticipated.

Bahahaha ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ oh well!


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two: Ginny’s Story – Part Two: A Christmas Holiday Special  (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Ginny Weasley’s Three Part Holiday Special! (Part One)
> 
> I want to sincerely apologize for missing Sunday’s update, I was delayed unexpectedly over the weekend and thought that I could write this quickly Sunday night. As it turned out… I was massively wrong. This flashback quickly grew to over 18k words as I tried to manage multiple character dialog, do Ginny’s character justice and provide some insight into the happenings at Hogwarts between September to December. So I ended up needing the split the story into 3 parts.  
> So – if you’re not a fan of the Ginny side story then I’m sorry… these next three chapters aren’t for you :( but after this I will be diving back into classic HH plot.  
> Now on to the original notes that I wrote three nights ago….
> 
> 1\. Before I moved the plot too far along into February for Hermione and Harry, I wanted to complete a flashback and present the happenings over Christmas break at the Weasley household. This chapter is a bit long as I tried to cover some of the happenings at Hogwarts, included some other students and added some smut (you’re welcome)  
> I hope that you enjoy this chapter and are getting excited for the upcoming holidays – regardless of what you celebrate I wish everyone a safe and happy holiday season <3  
> 2\. Regarding the upcoming holidays I plan to keep posting per the usual schedule (for now) but if anything changes, I’ll let you know! Again, apologies for the delay this week, I’m sorry for keeping you waiting :(  
> 3\. To anyone preparing for or currently writing exams – GOOD LUCK! You are AMAZING and you can do this!! I believe in you <3  
> 4\. And lastly… please enjoy and let me know what you think, I always read the comments and feedback and I find it very helpful to keep improving!  
> And as always, I love you all! Thank you for reading! <3 <3 <3 ~ TT
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> I’m sure everyone knows the general warnings by now…I’ll only add them at the top for chapters that have content that is difficult or possibly upsetting.  
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

“Ginny?”

A gentle hand touched her leg and jolted her from her thoughts. She’d been sitting quietly, consumed by the endless ramblings of her mind as she stared out the window and rocked gently with the movements of the train as it sped farther away from Hogwarts and into the surrounding snow-covered hills. At the contact her eyes snapped away from the endless white and locked onto the bright honey coloured ones that were looking at her with concern.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Ginny asked giving her head a small shake and trying to clear out the worries that had flooded it.

“I asked if you were okay – if you still want to do this?” She wasn’t backing out, just giving Ginny a final opportunity to change her mind. “I can still arrange to go to my parents.”

“No,” Ginny shook her head quickly and then grabbed hold of the hand that was still on her leg. It wasn’t safe for her to go home to her parents – they both knew that. Her family was targeted and frankly it was a miracle that her parents hadn’t been killed yet – almost all the rest of her family was slaughtered by Voldemort, her aunt being the most recent member added to the list. The Burrow was safer. “I’ve already told mum that you’d be joining us, they’re expecting you – and I want you to be there.”

“Alright,” a small smile formed on her lips as she squeezed Ginny’s hand in return. “But don’t feel pressured to say anything you don’t want to – I understand Ginny, your parents, your family – they don’t know yet. And you don’t _have_ to tell them. I can just be a guest, just – a friend.”

“Don’t be ridiculous Susan,” Ginny said as she twisted her body and leaned into the girl’s side. Closing her eyes briefly she let out a deep sigh. “You _are_ my guest, and my _friend_. But – you’re also my _girlfriend_ and I want my family to know that. If they don’t like it… well – then that’s their problem to deal with, not mine and certainly not yours.”

“Okay,” Susan agreed nodding her head. She slid her arm around Ginny and leaned her head against her fiery red hair. “But we do it on your terms, when you want to and the way you want to – so just take your time with it and do what you think is best. I’ll be there with you – right beside you the whole time.”

“I know,” Ginny tilted her head to kiss Susan’s jaw then nuzzled her head back into the side of her soft sweater.

The train was warm despite the frigid cold that had started to frost up the windows, so they had pitched their cloaks the second they boarded, piling them up on the opposite seat and storing their small travel bags on the racks above. Even though the majority of students were returning home for the winter break the train felt empty – likely due to the fact that a lot of students didn’t return to school that September. With Snape as the headmaster, Dumbledore dead, and Voldemort and his followers rising in power many wizarding families didn’t feel safe sending their kids back to school and had kept them home.

 _Smart move_ , Ginny snorted inwardly as she thought back to the Carrows who were in charge of student discipline, teaching muggle studies and acted as the Deputy Headmasters. Which was just a fancy way of saying that they harassed, tortured and terrorized the students of families who did not outright support Voldemort, and taught that muggles were scum that deserved punishment, as a minimum, and death when and where possible.

They were the reason that the train was late leaving Hogwarts and why Ginny and Susan would not be arriving at King’s Cross station until well after 11pm that night. The Carrows had insisted on searching several school bags, holding up the boarding students and trying to drag a few of them off to be questioned in the dungeons prior to departure. Professor McGonagall, who was on the platform and attempting to keep things calm had lost her temper and pitched a fit – yelling at the Carrows and demanding that they stop their dimwitted nonsense and allow the students to leave. Wands had been drawn, the air had grown tense, and it had almost turned into a full-on battle until Snape suddenly appeared on the platform between them with a gust of wind.

In an instant the platform fell silent, each student frozen in terror as the man who killed Dumbledore stood like death before them. A dark shadow against the white snow, they were unable to look away as their breaths hitched in their chests and they waited to see what would happen. Even the Carrows had frozen on spots. The suitcase in Alecto’s hands fell open and the contents spilled to the ground while her brother, Amycus, gripped Dennis Creevy tightly by the upper arm – his wand still pointed at Professor McGonagall. Both of them watched Snape carefully. As stupid as they were – they weren’t complete imbeciles. The man who towered before them had single handedly killed one of the greatest wizards of all time, he was the right hand of the Dark Lord, and they knew that they didn’t stand a chance.

Snape’s eyes had danced around the platform, taking in the scene and assessing the situation quickly while showing absolutely no sign of emotion. Ginny couldn’t stop the involuntary flinch she felt when his dead eyes swept over her before circling back to the Carrows.

“I would _think_ , that you would realize how _idiotic_ it is to search the students upon their _departure_ ,” Snape had said, his voice low and slow, emphasizing every syllable as he spoke. “Especially given the number of students who you’ve now left _unattended_ in the school.”

The Carrows had flinched at his words, Ginny could see the fear and embarrassment that flashed across their eyes when they realized that Snape was right – they had just voluntarily left students free to do as the pleased back up at the castle while they harassed those leaving for the holidays.

“I don’t care what they _take_ from the school,” Snape’s words were deadly as he started to close the gap between him and the Carrows. “I care what they bring _back_. Perhaps your time would be better spent planning a search for their _return_.”

With his final step toward Amycus Snape reached out his hand and grabbed Dennis by the back of his neck, turning swiftly on his heel and throwing the boy on to the train much less than gently. Professor McGonagall’s mouth had opened wide at the action, her eye twitching as if to challenge Snape right then and there on the platform for manhandling a student. But a single deadly look from the bat of the dungeon had her freeze on spot and lock her jaw shut. He glared back at the Carrows, his imposing frame causing Alecto to drop the already opened suitcase on the platform and grip the side of her robes tightly while Amycus pocketed his wand.

“Yes sir – you’re right sir,” Amycus nodded with a slight incline of his head before grabbing his sister’s arm and turning toward the castle. “We will prepare a plan right away to present to you – and check the castle for wandering students, sir.”

As they walked quickly toward the castle, no doubt already planning how to _search_ the students upon their return and ensure that their _favourites_ were found guilty of something – Snape turned once more to face Professor McGonagall, his face blank but chilling.

“Professor – please see to it that the students get on the train in a _timely_ manner – I have more important things to do than babysit dunderheads who can’t complete a simple task.”

With that Snape turned on his heel and vanished from the platform, his robes billowing our behind him as the students remained silent. Ginny didn’t miss the brief but sharp glare he threw her way before he vanished and she smirked – knowing full well that the _more important things_ he had to deal with were the multiple stink bombs that she and Neville had left timed to blow up in his office corridor.

Professor McGonagall regained her senses promptly and shooed them all onto the train – evidently wanting to get back to the castle and check on the remaining students before the Carrows caused more trouble. Normally Ginny would be as fearful as McGonagall for her fellow students – but she knew that the majority of the students staying over the break were allied with the Carrows and the few remaining who weren’t would be hiding out safe in the Gryffindor common room. The Carrows wouldn’t find a single soul out of bed when they returned.

Typically, she would expect Professor McGonagall to be sharp enough to figure that out – but Ginny knew that McGonagall was at the end of her wits, the multiple stress lines on her face were a testament to that. Between the Carrows, Snape, caring for the students, trying to protect the students, the Ministry breathing down her back and the overarching war that was ongoing outside of school McGonagall was ready to have a meltdown. Ginny hoped that she found some sort of peace over the holidays. The students needed her at her best day in and day out to help keep the sanity, but she wasn’t sure how much more their professor could take.

Ginny and Colin had boarded the train quickly to see if Dennis was alright while Susan retrieved his suitcase from the ground. Thankfully, he was largely unhurt aside from minor bruises, which was nothing compared to what he would have gotten had he been dragged to the dungeon by the Carrows. Ginny had had several run-ins with the Carrows herself over the last few months and she had the scars to prove it. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew that the only reason why she didn’t get it worse than she did was because she was a pureblood and the Carrows had been ordered not to harm purebloods _permanently_. Though they certainly had no issues coming after her frequently – which was easy for them to do given the commotion that Ginny had been creating since her return in September. Unfortunately, this meant that the people who had been following her lead now bore the same scars – at least this time Dennis escaped without further torture.

It was never Ginny’s intent when she returned to school to reinstate Dumbledore’s Army or to have others help her in her efforts to disrupt the school, fight in the war and help Harry, Hermione and Ron in whatever way she could. She’d been positively shocked when Neville of all people, within the first week of school no less, had sought her out and asked her what the plan was. Within three weeks he had become her right-hand man and was instrumental in the rebellion efforts. And while the consequences of their actions weighed heavily on her mind, as she often felt responsible for the injuries sustained by her friends, she couldn’t lie – she _needed_ their help. They were all instrumental in being successful.

Under the layer of guilt that circled her mind, she did know that the members of Dumbledore’s Army that had returned and stepped up to the plate were there at their own volition. For some in the wizarding community, Dumbledore’s death had been an excuse to become meek, to hide and to give up – to justify their inaction and cowardice because ‘ _if a great and powerful man like Dumbledore could fail how could they succeed?’._ But for others, most notably Neville, Susan and Luna it had been a reason to stand up and fight even harder. Ginny had been surprised when within a few weeks Colin, Dennis, Hannah and Seamus had offered their support. And after only a month and a half at school she had been positively shocked when Lavender Brown and the Patil twins freely offered their assistance. They wanted to fight, they wanted to help, they were willing to accept the consequences – and they did so, each and every time without complaints.

Ginny was once again pulled from her thoughts by a soft knock on the compartment door. She knew that it was Neville even with the window blind pulled down because they’d made several coded knocks and words to use for communication at school. During the remainder of the summer at the Burrow after the wedding Ginny had read a book that Hermione left her about muggle codes which proved to be both inspiring and useful. Now many of the DA members used codes and secret words to convey information when talking – since you could never guarantee you were alone at Hogwarts.

“Yes, come in,” Susan called as Ginny sat up slightly and they both looked toward the door expectantly.

“Hey Susan, Ginny – sorry to bother you, I just wanted to let you know that Lavender can get us some more of that salve over the break, she said her grandmother was working on making several batches.” Neville closed the door behind him before he spoke and had sat down opposite to them in the compartment. “We just have to find a creative way to sneak it in.”

“Great!” Ginny smiled as she gipped Susan’s hand in happiness. “I’m sure we can come up with something, we should probably ask Luna – she’s usually pretty creative with these things.”

They had been using medical salves that Lavender’s grandmother had been providing to treat some of the wounds they accumulated from the Carrows, and from their own DA missions. While Madame Pomfrey was doing her best to treat the students at the school, she was technically not allowed to treat any injuries that resulted from their punishments, because otherwise ‘ _how would the students learn_?’ the Carrows had questioned. Obviously, Madame Pomfrey didn’t give a rat’s ass what the Carrows said and she promptly refused to listen to that rule and treated the students. But it made it easier and prosed less risk to Madame Pomfrey’s wellbeing if they kept a minimal supply of healing salve and potions hidden in the main Gryffindor common room.

Neville was the first person at school to learn that Ginny and Susan were a couple – he’d accidentally stumbled in on them while they were snogging in the Gryffindor common room in the middle of the night after everyone else had gone to bed. Something that they never did again after that because it was simply too risky. At the time Ginny had been horrified, unable to speak and unsure of what to say. The confusion on Neville’s face was obvious as his eyes flicked between the two of them, unsure why Susan was even in their common room and trying to decide if he had seen what he _thought_ he had. It could have been a trick of the low fire light. As far as everyone at school was concerned, Ginny was still dating Harry Potter, so Neville struggled to wrap his head around what was happening. After several moments of awkward silence Susan sighed and stepped up to clear the air and squash out the building tension.

“Neville, Ginny and I are dating. She and Harry mutually broke up months ago – he knows – but we haven’t told anyone else yet. With everything going on it seemed like a bad time, so we’re going to tell everyone later – we would appreciate your discretion until that time comes.” Susan paused, allowing the information to sink in before arching an eyebrow at him in challenge. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” Neville had sputtered, briefly reverting back to his old self – a far stretch from the confident, well-spoken and capable wizard he’d become since Dumbledore’s death. “No, no – not at all! I just – I wasn’t expecting to see you here – I, I didn’t know about you are Harry, Ginny, I didn’t want to assume anything I just – No, I have no problem with it.”

Then a huge grin split across his face and he almost wiggled on spot with excitement.

“I am so happy for you two – I promise I won’t say a word,” he said seriously, evidently understanding their situation and why they chose to hide it.

The words had practically made Ginny’s heart burst. After coming to terms with her own sexuality after breaking up with Harry, and then rebuilding her own self confidence throughout the summer Ginny was confident in her herself and wasn’t hiding her relationship because she was ashamed or embarrassed. She kept it a secret simply because there was enough shit going on in the world and they didn’t need to cause any more drama. Susan not only supported her opinion, she seconded it. While Susan’s parents knew that she was gay and openly supported her – Ginny had yet to tell her own family, and the last thing she wanted was for her mum to find out through a third party.

Couple that with the fact that the Carrows were sadistic and cruel – using your emotions and friendships against you. After what happened to Maisey, her dorm mate, Ginny and Susan had absolutely no desire to announce their relationship to the school and they were glad that Neville unquestioningly agreed to keep this quiet. Maisey had been the first one to be forced to attack her boyfriend as punishment – but she wasn’t the last. The Carrows would force students to cast the _cruciatus_ curse on each other, specifically at first years and people that they cared about – and if they refused, the Carrows would simply use an _imperio_ to make it happen _._

Since then, everyone at Hogwarts, even those not part of the rebellion, kept their relationships and friendships as secret as possible. It was harder for the siblings, Colin and Dennis being prime examples, since that wasn’t something you could hide. They both knew that Luna undoubtably knew about their relationship and they suspected that Colin, Hannah and the Patil twins had figured it out too. But none of them were stupid enough to ask for confirmation and Ginny and Susan weren’t dumb enough to tell them – plausible deniability was everything during war, especially when veritaserum might be involved. But based on their unwavering loyalty to Ginny and DA and they were confident that their unconfirmed relationship had been accepted and that no one had questioned Ginny’s loyalty to Harry.

A second knock on the compartment door indicated that Luna and Hannah were there. Ginny and Susan shuffled again, unlatching their hands and leaving a few inches of space between them before they opened the door and allowed their friends in. As much as Ginny wanted to sit quietly and undisturbed with Susan and enjoy the train ride, she did appreciate the interruption and the conversation that ensued. She was a nervous wreck. While she meant what she said to Susan – that she didn’t care what her family thought about their relationship, it didn’t make the idea of announcing it any easier and the group conversation helped ease her mind.

Ginny settled comfortably into the discussion, talking about DA’s next moves and smiling at the group as they tried to stay positive and enjoy their small freedom away from school. She grinned at Hannah who grinned widely at her in return as she handed out chocolate frogs to the group for a snack. 

-x-x-

By the time the train pulled into King’s Cross station it was 11:30 at night and the compartment was exploding with bodies. Hannah had fallen asleep on top of the coat pile in the corner of their compartment, Neville was talking animatedly with Lavender who had joined them at some point, and Susan was discussing ideas with Luna about smuggling in the salve. Colin and Dennis had also squished their way in with Seamus, sitting next to Ginny and talking about seeing their families again. Parvati, who had popped in to wish everyone a Merry Christmas about an hour before the train arrived, was now seated on top of Hannah’s feet on the floor with her back resting against the outer wall – eating her chocolate frogs as she talked quietly with her sister, who had stood like a sardine against the closed compartment door. Ginny was wedged tightly between Colin and Susan and partaking in several different conversations.

Eleven people was _far_ too many to have squished in one compartment and it obliterated any chance of being comfortable for the ride. Ginny had to cast cooling charms every so often so they wouldn’t need to remove their clothes or end up passed out from heat exhaustion – but she wouldn’t have had it any other way. These people had become her family. They were a team, they depended on each other, they supported each other and had set aside any inner animosity to do their part in the war. Being with them, with Susan at her side made her feel safe and confident. 

“Merry Christmas!” Ginny waved as she lugged her small suitcase off the top rack with her opposite hand. Her and Susan had waited for the rest of the crew to exit the compartment before they were able to gather their belongings and depart.

“Bye!” Hannah smiled as she turned to leave last, the other good byes could be heard throughout the corridor.

“Be safe!” Colin waved as he held his brother’s shoulder gently and steered him off the train.

“See you guys soon!” the Patil twins called behind them.

“Floo me if you can!” Lavender called out after them.

“Seamus don’t blow anything up!” Dennis yelled back the corridor as Colin steered him along.

“Oi, fuck you!” Seamus yelled, unable to do anything else since he was stuck behind the crowd.

“Take care Neville,” Susan said with a gentle squeeze of his arm.

“You too, remember, if you need anything let me know.” Neville smiled at the two girls before heading to the platform.

“Make sure you de-Nargle your mistletoe,” Luna said airily as she departed the train next.

Ginny sighed, smiling at Susan before closing her eyes and heaving in a massive breath of the cold winter air that filled the platform. It was good to be able to breath freely again. When her shoulders had finally relaxed, she opened her eyes and started making her way down the platform, scanning the faces for someone in her family – unsure who would be picking them up.

“Ginny!” she heard her father call from the crowd before she spotted him. Catching a glimpse of his raised hand she smiled back at Susan and they quickly made their way over.

“Hi dad!” Ginny grinned as he hugged her tightly and then turned to give Susan a traditional Weasley bear hug.

“You must be Susan!” Mr. Weasley said with a grin as he released her and then took both of the girl’s bags. “It’s so nice to meet you – Molly and I are happy to have you join us this Christmas.”

 _If nothing else_ , Ginny thought as she smiled at the blush on Susan’s cheeks from the warm welcome she’d received¸ _dad will support me_.

Her father, ever the happy and welcoming man had never let her down. He had always supported her, always believed in her and always welcomed everyone into their home without hesitation. While her mother was also incredibly welcoming, warm hearted and a typical mother hen – she could sometimes get worked up and temperamental. Due to their similar hot-headed personalities Ginny often butted heads with her mother. Her dad on the other hand, she always got along with. He was the calm and gentle force that held the family together.

They made their way off the crowded platform, through the familiar barricade, and out past the parking lot toward a safe apparition zone with several other people. While some wizards dared to apparate directly onto the platform – usually this was the stuck-up, pompous, pureblood families like the Malfoys who were completely uncaring if their actions hurt others – most didn’t. It was just too dangerous and a nightmare to do successfully. Countless times over the years, wizards had apparated on top of others, or left partial suitcases behind, or splinched themselves while attempting to apparate out of the crowded and busy platform. Hence, the creation of a safe apparition space located just outside the station and why wizards got there numerous other ways.

“Alright gang,” Mr. Weasley said enthusiastically as they reached the safe wards and stepped inside. “I figure apparating is best today given the late time – you’ll each need to hold your own suitcases tightly though.”

Taking her suitcase back in hand Ginny tried to calm the pain she felt in her heart as she looked at her dad. Despite his enthusiastic personality, she could tell that he looked tired and she knew that he was doing his best to remain his cheerful old self. Susan shot her a comforting smile before they each took one of his outstretched hands and got ready to travel.

“Alright,” Mr. Weasley said standing straight and smiling at them both. “On the count of three – One, Two, Three-“

With a pop they disapparated into the cold winter night, Ginny grimaced at the awful feeling of being pushed through a very small tube and then stumbled when they appeared outside the wards of the Burrow. Susan grabbed her arm quickly to prevent her from falling over and bent at the waist gripping her own stomach with a laugh.

“I always forget just how awful that feels,” she said looking up at Mr. Weasley. “Thank you for doing the apparition – I’m always hesitant to do it myself after what happened the first time.”

“Of course my dear!” Mr. Weasley said brightly as he took both suitcases from the girls once more and they started their way up to the house, passing through the wards and enchantments with each step. “What happened the first time you apparated?”

“Oh, you know – just left a leg behind.”

“You don’t say!” Mr. Weasley said excitedly as he looked toward Susan. “Well that’s quiet the story isn’t it – was it the whole leg?”

Ginny grinned widely at how comfortably Susan was talking to her dad, like they were old pals catching up and she bit back a laugh when Susan told the story of her first apparition lesson. Mr. Weasley was a great audience, asking all the questions that his curious brain wanted to know – the ones that her mother would surely have swatted him for while saying something like ‘ _it’s impolite to ask how much leg someone left behind!’_

When they got to the house most of the lights were off. Ginny wasn’t sure just how many of her siblings would be joining them for the holidays, but if they were already there they were sleeping. She knew that Ron was off with Harry and Hermione, and Percy definitely wouldn’t be coming – but Fred, George, Bill and Charlie were bound to stop by at some point. Ginny grinned when her mother greeted Susan much like her father did and she tried to hide the blush that dusted her face.

“You must be Susan!” Mrs. Weasley smiled, pulling Susan into a tight hug and then ushering the girls inside. “We’re so happy to have you for the holiday! I wasn’t sure if you girls would be hungry, with the train being as late as it was – I’ve made you some hot chocolate and heated you some left-overs from dinner. Here – you two sit, and Arthur will bring your bags to your room. I thought that you could stay in the spare bunk that Hermione has used over the summer – I’ve changed the sheets and tidied everything up so it’s all ready.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, that’s very kind of you,” Susan replied as she took a seat at the table next to Ginny.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all dear,” Mrs. Weasley smiled as her husband carried the bags upstairs and the girls started eating.

“Are Fred and George coming for Christmas?” Ginny asked as she tucked into her dinner, the chocolate frogs Hannah provided having worn off ages ago.

“Yes, they’ll be here Christmas eve – I think they plan to stay through until boxing day,” Mrs. Weasley took a seat at the end of the table as Mr. Weasley reappeared. “Charlie said he’ll try to pop by on Christmas day and Bill and Fleur will come and stay Christmas eve as well.”

Ginny noticed a tightness in her mum’s jaw when she mentioned Bill and Fleur – but she chose not to comment on it. It was after midnight, she was exhausted, and she didn’t want to try and open that can of worms now. She already knew that either her mum had become upset with Fleur, _again_ , or perhaps she was still struggling with accepting that her older brother Percy was a douche and wouldn’t be coming. Either way, all she wanted was to get to her room with Susan and go to sleep.

Once they had finished eating Mrs. Weasley shooed them to bed, Ginny and Susan both gladly agreeing and making their way up the long staircase to Ginny’s room. Ginny could hear her mum and dad whispering quietly in the kitchen while they tidied up.

“So,” Susan said once the door was shut and Ginny had placed a silencing charm out of habit. “This is your room?”

A furious blush crossed Ginny’s face when she realized that she was standing in her childhood bedroom with her girlfriend – she’d been so bloody tired that the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind.

“Uh,” Ginny hesitated, quickly scanning her eyes around the room to make sure that there was nothing embarrassing lying about. If there was she would blame it on Hermione, but thankfully her mum had tidied up and aside from some Holyhead Harpies posters there wasn’t much laying about. “Yes – it’s not much but-“

“I love it,” Susan grinned, stepping toward Ginny and wrapping her arms around her waist.

Ginny flushed deeper, feeling the heat in her cheeks as her face turned a similar crimson as her hair. It had been ages since Susan and her were alone and Ginny’s pulse was racing at the closeness between them. No matter how much time passed, her stomach fluttered every time they touched. Grinning Ginny leaned in and kissed Susan gently.

“Thank you for coming with me,” she breathed against her lips.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Susan whispered, nuzzling her nose against Ginny’s before the sound of Mrs. Weasley’s voice startled them apart.

“I know you’re tired girls but don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

Ginny groaned and slapped her face with her hand as Susan laughed outright. Grabbing her wand off her bed she removed the silencing charm to respond at the same time Susan did.

“Yes mom!”

“Yes Mrs. Weasley!”

Taking a breath to calm her nerves Ginny opened her suitcase to pull out her pajamas and bathroom kit.

“Come on – I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

It crossed Ginny’s mind while she brushed her teeth that her mum would have an absolute hay day if she knew that Susan was staying in her room as her girlfriend. Similar to how Fleur had stayed in a separate room when she was visiting the Burrow last Christmas, partners were allowed to stay in the house – but her mum wouldn’t allow unmarried couples to canoodle under her roof. Susan was only staying in her room because she was a _friend_ and because on Christmas day the house would be quite full, the only free room would be Percy’s since Charlie would likely use Ron’s.

 _If only they knew_ , she snorted at the thought. But having Susan stay in a different room would only rouse suspicion – and Ginny wasn’t ready to tell her parents she was gay yet. She was going to tell her family once and only once. So, she was waiting until they all showed up so she could get it done and over with in one fell swoop. _Besides_ , she thought as she quickly changed into her pajamas while Susan went to use the washroom. _I wouldn’t mind having some actual time to be with my girlfriend before shit hits the fan._

Term hadn’t ended this year until December 18th with exams extending over the weekend and the train home scheduled for Monday the 22nd. They’d be heading back to Hogwarts on the 2nd of January only for term to start the following Monday. Based on what her mum had said, Christmas day would be the only day everyone was there – which left her only tomorrow and Christmas Eve with Susan before she revealed their relationship to her family.

Ginny was going to enjoy those two days to their fullest extent, knowing full well that for the remaining eight days of their vacation after Christmas Susan would be staying in a different room and her mum would be watching them closely. And that was assuming that everything went well and that her family had accepted them. Worst case they would be leaving the house and apparating to Susan’s Parents – which was a risky move given the watch the Death Eaters had on her family. Susan and her parents had made arrangements with Neville and his grandmother so that if things got bad, they could evacuate their home and apparate to a safe place on the Longbottom estate – but everyone was hoping it wouldn’t get to that point.

“Hey,” Susan said as she stepped back into the bedroom in her pajamas. Her strawberry blonde hair hung loose in a high ponytail and she closed the distance between them as Ginny cast a silencing charm and locked the door.

“Hey,” Ginny smiled, pulling Susan toward her and relaxing in her hold.

“You still okay?”

“Yeah,” Ginny sighed, breathing in the wonderful scent of Susan’s face wash. “Tired, stressed, anxious, nervous – you know, the norm.”

Susan laughed and kissed her on the forehead.

“How tired are you?” Ginny asked looking up into her girlfriend’s honey coloured eyes and dimming the light with her wand.

“Tired,” Susan responded before giving her a mischievous grin. “But not _that_ tired.”

Ginny bit her lip as her heart fluttered once more. She’d heard her parents go to bed while she was in the bathroom and with the lock on her bedroom door no one would be walking in unannounced. The house was quiet, the world was sleeping, and they finally had a moment alone.

Ginny pulled Susan down on to her bed, capturing her lips as she moved and reveling at the sweet and minty taste of her mouth. It had been ages since they’d done anything physical aside from a brief kiss here and there – the last time they’d been physical was Halloween and it had been quick because there wasn’t much time. Ginny moaned softly as Susan nibbled at her bottom lip and slid her hand under the edge of her oversized pajama shirt. Pulling Susan on top of her, Ginny opened her mouth and slid her tongue through her lips. She tasted like bliss, like pure _heavenly_ bliss – and Ginny felt the coil at her core start to tighten.

When they had first started dating at the start of the school term Ginny was surprised to learn that despite Susan’s reserved and polite outward appearance she was actually very carnal and strongly in favour of physical contact as a way of expressing her feelings and being intimate. This worked well for Ginny who had always been very outspoken, impatient, perhaps a little brash with her regular vulgar words – especially since Ginny was also someone who craved physical intimacy due to her own heightened sexual nature. It didn’t take long before they realized that they were two peas in a pod and began pushing past casual snogging if the opportunity struck. It was a huge leap from the letters they had been penning back and forth throughout the summer, or the causal touches they had the previous school year before it ended – but it was never even a thought between the two of them that they might be moving too fast.

 _It’s been so fucking long_ , Ginny thought as Susan groaned and slid a leg between hers, pushing into her center and moving her hand to gently massage her breast. Their lips moved with practiced ease, their movements quickened and soon they were panting. Ginny’s hand was gripping Susan’s hip tightly, pushing down into the grinding motions she was making and pushing her own thigh up into Susan’s core.

“Shit – Susan,” she groaned as Susan pushed her shirt up, exposing her chest and moved to suck her nipple – twirling her tongue around it and making Ginny’s back arch. “Merlin you feel so good.”

“Mmmm,” Susan murmured against her chest before making her way up to suck on Ginny’s neck. “I love when you’re wound up.”

“You fucking wind me up witch,” Ginny moaned as Susan brought her hand between her legs and rubbed the junction.

Unable to take the building pressure anymore Ginny pushed back on Susan, forcing her to sit up and then laydown with her head at the foot of the bed.

“We need to – take – fucking pants – off,” Ginny struggled to make a coherent phrase as she grabbed the waist of Susan’s pajama pants and started to pull them down.

Susan grinned widely and lifted her hips, eager to assist and remove the barrier between them. She loved when Ginny was pent up, when she needed release – and she loved being the one to give it to her. Ginny quickly shucked off her own bottoms before moving to lower her head between Susan’s legs, one hand pressing down on Susan’s stomach.

“Oh – fuck that feels good,” Susan moaned, her head lolling to her right as Ginny pushed her panties aside and slid her tongue over her already wet folds. Susan moved her hand between them and tangled her fingers in Ginny’s hair, pushing her hips up as Ginny continued to circle the little bud that was throbbing between her legs, each lick sending shivers down her spine.

“Ginny,” Susan’s voice was low and sultry. “I want you.”

Feeling the push against her head Ginny let Susan lead her backward until her head was once again resting on her pillow. She removed her panties while Susan stripped off her own, then parted her legs as Susan crawled forward. They’d only ever done this once before, and it had felt so good Ginny came almost instantly. She suspected tonight would be similar – they were both tired, pent up and desperate for release. Susan climbed on top of her, aligning their centers before she lowered herself, rocking their cores against one another as she held Ginny’s leg in front of her.

“Oh – fuck Susan,” Ginny groaned, hands fisting her own hair as a tremble shook through her body. It somehow felt even better than the first time they’d tried this, hidden behind the charmed curtains of Susan’s four poster bed.

“You like that?” Susan asked teasingly.

Through hazed eyes Ginny could see the faint flush across her girlfriend’s beautiful complexion as she moved above her. Sliding her hands from her hair she gripped Susan’s hips tightly, pulling them down even closer as Susan ground herself against Ginny’s soaking center.

“Yes I fucking like that,” Ginny groaned as Susan began to pant with the motion. She’d also been surprised to find out that Susan seemed to like talking dirty when they first became physical – but she had absolutely no complaints about it. Her body trembled again, she was so close. Seeing Susan in nothing but a baggy old T-shirt, the faint light glowing off her hair while she ground into her in her childhood bedroom was going to send her over the edge. “Merlin – you’re going to make me come.”

“Fuck Ginny,” Susan moaned as Ginny pushed up into her once more. “I want you to come – I want you to come for me.”

“Susan – fuuuuck, Susan, just like that – just like –“ Ginny’s eyes clamped shut as the coil that had been building within her snapped and a wave crashed over her, every muscle in her body tensing with her climax.

She could hear Susan fall apart right after her, her hips moving quicker, desperately grinding as Ginny gripped her tightly – they were both completely consumed by the high of their orgasm. Ginny held Susan steady, pushing up into her, riding out the wave and watching as a look of euphoria washed over the girl above her before she crumpled into Ginny’s arms.

“Holy shit Ginny,” Susan panted into her neck, her limbs shaking from the effort as the last remains of her climax coursed through her body.

“No kidding,” Ginny breathed, her heart still racing as a heavy tiredness began to sink in. She hadn’t realized just how pent up she was.

She held Susan close and kissed the side of her face before they untangled themselves to lay panting at the ceiling. It was several minutes before they begrudgingly made their way to the bathroom to wash up. Both of them wanted nothing more than to curl up right then and there and go to sleep – but after such activities they both knew a trip to the bathroom was necessary.

As Ginny returned to her room, she saw that Susan had transfigured her bed wider and was laying half asleep within it, her ponytail re-fixed atop her head. She couldn’t help the sleepy smile that crossed her face as she crawled into bed behind Susan and wrapped her arm around her. Susan snuggled back into her, enjoying the warmth in the cool bedroom.

“G’night Ginny,” Susan whispered softly against the pillow she’d taken from her spare bed. Her breathing was already deep and Ginny knew she was mostly asleep.

“Good night Susan,” Ginny yawned before kissing the back of her neck and allowing the heaviness that floated over her to take hold.

To be continued in part two…


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three: Ginny’s Story – Part Two: A Christmas Holiday Special (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Ginny Weasley’s Holiday Special! (Part Two)
> 
> 1\. I love you <3  
> 2\. Happy Wednesday!  
> 3\. Please enjoy and let me know what you think, I always read the comments and feedback and I find it very helpful to keep improving!
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> WARNINGS: (next two chapters)  
> \- lots of cussing  
> \- derogatory terms being dished out  
> \- family drama and coming out drama
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

The next morning Ginny awoke to the smell of breakfast floating up from the kitchen and was surprised to see that she and Susan had not moved an inch from the night before. Despite their numerous sexual activities over the last few months, they’d never actually _slept_ together – so she wasn’t sure what to expect, or if it would go well. She’d been told in the past – mostly by Hermione – that she was a bit of an aggressive sleeper. She was a notorious blanket stealer, rolled about and often kicked anyone within a three-foot radius. Apparently, as it would seem, having an orgasm and then curling up next to Susan calmed her down sufficiently to prevent the chaos.

 _Shit we were more tired than I thought_ , Ginny hummed as she felt Susan wake in her arms. They laid there happily for several minutes, neither one of them speaking while they just enjoyed the calm comfort of laying in each other’s arms – being thankful for having each other. If asked to describe how Ginny felt about Susan, Ginny would say that ‘ _she was everything to her’_ and that ’ _she couldn’t imagine life without her’_. She had told these things to Susan as the first semester had progressed and Susan had told Ginny that she cared about her more than anyone. Both of them knew how they felt – but they had yet to say the big word.

It felt weird to be afraid of a word, to let it hold so much power over you, when really it should be welcomed gladly. After all, it was the single nicest thing that you could say to someone. But regardless, Ginny was too nervous to tell Susan that she loved her. She wasn’t worried that Susan would reject her. She knew from the way that Susan looked at her, and from the way that she would open her mouth then hesitate and close it again that she was thinking the same thing. It wasn’t because Ginny was unsure if she loved her either. Susan was home to her, she was where Ginny belonged, who she wanted to spend her time with and the first person she ran to when she needed to talk. She knew that she wanted to stay with her, that she wanted a life with this incredible woman that gave her the confidence to be herself and who so perfectly complimented her life. She was just afraid – for no logical reason, probably like most people are.

After saying good morning, the two girls finally hauled themselves from the warmth of the sheets and transfigured the bed back to its normal size. Susan tossed her pillow onto _her_ spare bed and pulled back the comforter – clearly aware of the appearance they were keeping up without commenting on it. Then, they changed out of their pajamas and made their way down to breakfast to join Ginny’s parents.

“Good morning girls,” Mr. Weasley said with far more energy than anyone should have in the morning.

“Good morning,” the girls echoed in perfect unison as they walked to the table, pulled out their chairs and sat with identical movements.

“Hey! Don’t steal our bit,” two unified voices spoke from the kitchen doorway. Fred and George had just entered the kitchen and were starting to remove their coats.

“It took us years to perfect our synced methods, surely you two could just wear matching outfits instead,” Fred said with a wink as he grinned at his sister.

“But then how would we tell them apart Fred?” George asked with mock concern

“Fred! George!” Ginny leapt up from her seat and ran over to her twin brothers who were dusting the snow off each other and gave them both a hug. Even though she had been communicating with them throughout the school year to get supplies from their joke shop to use in the DA rebellion, she rarely ever saw them in person.

“Yeah that’s us,” Fred said brightly as he squeezed her back and began slipping off his boots.

Ginny smiled widely as she returned to her seat and began hungrily digging in to the spread that Mrs. Weasley had prepared.

“I thought that you weren’t coming until tomorrow,” Mrs. Weasley called, a large smile gracing her face as she came over to kiss them both on the cheek.

“And miss out on the amazing breakfasts you make over the Christmas holidays?” George said as he moved into the kitchen. “Not a chance!”

“Good morning boys!” Mr. Weasley was positively beaming as he folded the magazine he had been reading and laughed when Fred and George both hugged him where he sat. “What a wonderful surprise! Are you off now until Christmas?”

“Sort of,” Fred replied as he grabbed a slice of bacon from the plate in the middle of the table and took a bite. “Just reduced hours, we’ll go in 11am till 4pm today, but we’re closed Christmas eve and Christmas day.”

“So, we’ll come back after work today and stay an extra night,” George continued his brother’s sentence as he grabbed a slice of bacon for himself before turning his attention to Susan. “Susan – its’ been a long time!”

Susan was seated quietly at the table throughout the exchange, a large grin stretched across her face as she watched with amusement. She had always loved the Weasley twins at school – but she had never seen so many Weasley’s interact all at once. It was loud, comical, loving – and the most fantastical family situation she’d ever been a part of.

“Yes, it has,” she smiled, her voice was light and shy. Ginny nudged her foot reassuringly under the table, she knew that her family could be a lot to handle if you weren’t used to them.

Both Fred and George circled around the table to give Susan a single arm hug across the shoulder, while they continued to hold bacon in the opposite hand.

“No one escapes the Weasley greeting hug,” Fred joked as he squeezed Susan’s shoulder then made his way over to his usual seat. Both him and George filled up their plates, accepting the tea Mrs. Weasley started handing out.

“I trust both of you slept well,” Mrs. Weasley smiled as she handed the girls their tea and then took her own seat. “You two slept like the dead! Didn’t hear a peep – poor things, you must have been so exhausted.”

“Oh yes, I slept wonderfully,” Susan replied as she buttered her toast and gently nudged Ginny’s foot under the table – both of them trying not to laugh, they’d been anything but quiet last night.

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed as she reached for her tea. “Between exams and everything else – I was exhausted.”

“Everything else?” Mrs. Weasley asked, her brow arched as she held her tea mug. Mr. Weasley was busy fixing his tea and didn’t seem to notice that the tides were about to turn at the table.

“Well yeah,” Ginny said somewhat surprised. With the number of problems that they had caused over the last four months at Hogwarts she had just assumed that her parents had heard about it. She didn’t miss the mischievous grin the twins shared at the turn in conversation. “With Dumbledore’s Army – we’ve just been organizing and doing things around the castle.”

“What sort of things,” Mrs. Weasley’s voice had dropped in tone and Ginny realized that either her parents had absolutely no idea what they had been up to all term, or her dad had done an excellent job hiding the letters from the school. Based on Mr. Weasley’s pleasant and calm expression while he whistled a muggle Christmas song and buttered his toast – she guessed it was the former of the two.

“All kinds of things,” Ginny replied vaguely, picking up the jam that Susan had finished with to put some on her toast.

“Ginevra Weasley – you answer the question,” Mrs. Weasley was now looking at her sternly over the top of her mug, her back was straight, and her tone was serious.

“Yeah Ginevra Weasley, answer the question,” Fred teased as he flashed her a set of pearly whites. Ginny shot him a glare. She was starting to think that her brothers were probably the only other people at the table aside from her and Susan who knew what DA was up to.

“Oh, relax mum,” Ginny shrugged, turning her attention back to her plate and ignoring her brother. She was unfazed by her mum’s stern tone, she’d heard it an uncountable amount of times over the years because of the two shit disturbers sitting across from her. “Just small things, nothing major. We’ve been training, and we practice defense, and you know, try to stop the Carrows from harassing the younger kids-“

“And set off stink bombs,” George mimicked her voice before eating more bacon.

“And tried to steal the sword,” Fred added then sipped his tea.

“Tried to steal the sword?!” Mrs. Weasley sputtered, and Ginny glared daggers at her brothers. She knew they were only doing it to get a rise out of their mother and that they meant no real harm, but it was still _incredibly_ annoying.

“Oh come on, it’s not secret everyone knows,” Fred rolled his eyes at Ginny’s death glare.

“The sword, you mean the sword of Gryffindor?! You do understand that you’re attending a school that is being watched by Death Eaters?” Mrs. Weasley asked incredulously, sitting her tea cup down so abruptly that the tea sloshed over the sides.

“The Carrows didn’t catch us, “Ginny retorted as she put down her toast in frustration, still side eyeing her brothers as they sat back and enjoyed the show they’d just started. “None of the Death Eaters knew about it! It was in Snape’s office – we almost got it to until the last second. Snape didn’t want to look like an _idiot,_ so he obviously never told anyone he was almost robbed by students – probably would have looked bad to _you know who_ so he kept it quiet and we only got detention with Hagrid.”

“We!?” Mrs. Weasley’s voice had escalated and Mr. Weasley had finally stopped humming and took notice. She turned to face Mr. Weasley somewhat desperately. “Arthur! Do you hear what your daughter just said?! It’s one thing to do something stupid on your own Ginevra Weasley, it’s a completely different thing to involve your friends! You do understand that Headmaster Snape is a Death Eater – that he killed Dumbledore?”

“Yes!” Ginny leaned back in her chair in exasperation. “Of course, I _know_ that! Everyone was there by choice!”

Ginny felt Susan place her hand lightly on her thigh under the table, trying to keep her calm.

“Arthur, will you say something!!” Mrs. Weasley practically shouted, her eyes darting between her daughter and her husband.

“Why were you stealing the sword?” Mr. Weasley asked, as he leaned forward resting his elbows on the table. His voice was sincere, he was genuinely curious.

“Oh, for the love of – Arthur, that’s not what I meant!” Mrs. Weasley yelled, her frustration getting the best of her as her voice went past the point of being controlled.

“Because Harry needs it!” Ginny yelled back now glaring at her mother and clenching her hands into fists at her sides. She was starting to feel ready to abort this conversation and walk out of the kitchen. “I know that you only think of me as your incapable little girl – but I’m not!”

The twins gave each other a nervous look. This argument had far surpassed what they’d intended to start. They only wanted to stir the pot a _little_ bit, to get their mother worked up and maybe have a laugh about some of the more ridiculous pranks that Ginny and the DA had pulled at school. In hindsight it was stupid of them to think that bringing this up was going to end well. The conversation had quickly morphed into an argument about the war – specifically, about Ginny’s involvement in the war. Fred and George both knew that their mother struggled to accept her children’s involvement in the war – they should have known this would go poorly, and now they were both kicking themselves for it.

“You know perfectly well that I don’t think you’re incapable!” Mrs. Weasley’s voice was pointed.

“Then stop treating me like I am!” Ginny yelled, pushing her chair back and standing at the table.

“You’re still underage Ginny! I’m not treating you like you’re incapable I’m treating you like you’re my _child_ – and I only want what’s best for you!”

“But none of us can afford to be fucking _kids_ anymore!” Ginny practically screamed as she leaned forward, hands resting on the table. “I’m underage by 8 months! Do you really think that matters at a time like this? We know how dangerous Snape is, we’ve been at school the last four months dealing with him and the bloody Carrow’s torment – we’re not complete fucking idiots! Everyone involved is there because they want to be, because they want to help – because they understand the consequences of losing this war!”

Ginny was breathing heavily. She knew that if she continued to scream it would only hurt her cause, that it made her look like the child that her mother clearly still saw her as. She needed to calm down. Taking a deep breath, she managed to get control of her raging emotions and removed her hands from the table, standing up straight before she continued in a low and serious tone.

“Stop treating me like a child and start treating me like someone who will be a part of this war – because I will be, whether I want to be or not,” Ginny paused, she gripped the sides of her pants and fought to retain her calm. “I know it’s hard for you to accept – but I’m going to help. I’m going to fight. I’m going to do everything I’m capable of to help win this war. I’m not going to abandon my friends or my family – I’m not going to sit on the side lines hoping that someone else does the dirty work. You didn’t raise me to be like that, you raised me to stand up for what’s right, regardless of what’s easy and to protect and take care of your friends. To take care of your family. And that – is _exactly_ what I’m going to do.”

Mrs. Weasley was silent. Her eyes were wide with shock from the vulgar that had poured from her daughter’s mouth, but she was stunned into silence by the image before her. Her baby girl, her only daughter, stood fiercely before her – speaking calmly, responsibly and with a fiery determination that would not be swayed. Mrs. Weasley couldn’t process it, her mind wouldn’t accept it – _when did my baby girl grow up?_ She gripped the table cloth tightly in her hands, unable to form a response and unwilling to accept that her daughter was no longer a child.

Ginny stared hard at her mother as she side stepped from her seat then calmly turned and walked up the stairs. The entire kitchen table sat silently, all of them watching Ginny go until they heard the familiar sound of her bedroom door open and they waited for the explosion – but it didn’t happen. A year ago, Ginny would have slammed her door shut and made a racket for the next hour to ensure that everybody in the house knew she was upset. Today, there was only silence.

Ginny had just won the argument, and everyone knew it. She’d calmed her temper, spoken clearly and logically and stood up for the morals that her family had preached and taught her since the day she was born. Despite the choice use of language, and the obvious tension that this would cause with his wife, Mr. Weasley couldn’t help the proud feeling that welled in his chest as he saw the young woman his little girl had become.

As the silence continued and an awkwardness settled over the table Susan wriggled her toes uncomfortably and glanced around. Mr. Weasley was sitting back in his chair with an odd look of pride on his face, the twins sported matching looks of guilt from starting the argument, and Mrs. Weasley was still clutching the table cloth tightly in her hands with her jaw clenched shut. After a full minute of silence passed Susan decided to excuse herself.

“Sooo….” she said awkwardly as she placed the napkin that had been across her lap back on the table. “I think I’ll – I’m just going to go check on her.”

Pulling herself up from the table slowly, Susan paused when Mr. Weasley finally spoke.

“She’s not a child anymore Molly,” he sounded proud, but there was a heaviness to his voice that made Susan’s heart ache. “And we need to accept that – and support her, because she’s going to help anyway.”

Not wanting to intrude on any further family affairs, Susan retreated from her seat and climbed the stairs to Ginny’s room. Ginny heard the door and looked up from her pillow to see Susan enter the room, then let out a deep breath.

“Susan I’m sorry,” Ginny sat up on her bed as Susan closed the distance. “You didn’t need to see that – sometimes my mum and I don’t exactly see eye to eye and I can’t help myself.”

“You don’t say,” Susan snorted lightly as she climbed onto the bed in front of Ginny, mimicking her position and sitting cross legged. They were close enough that their knees were touching. Susan leaned forward and placed a hand on either side of Ginny’s head, resting her thumbs on her temples and bringing their foreheads together. “I thought you handled yourself really well actually – you know your dad supports you, I think he’s proud of you for standing up for what’s right.”

“I know,” Ginny breathed, closing her eyes and relaxing under Susan’s touch.

“And you know that your mother is just worried about you,” Susan continued as she rubbed gentle circles on Ginny’s temple.

“Yes,” Ginny sighed again, taking deep breaths like Susan had taught her to over the last few months to calm her heart. “I know she means well.”

“Mhmm,” Susan murmured softly before she slid her hands down Ginny’s neck to rest on her shoulders, still maintaining the contact of their foreheads. “She’ll come around in time – it’s just hard for her, you’re her only daughter and her youngest child. That’s a double whammy if there ever was one.”

“Mhm,” Ginny laughed as a smile tugged at her lips. Susan’s fingers were massaging the stress out of her body through her shoulders and she felt like she could breath again. Normally it would take Ginny hours to calm down on her own, while she had managed control her temper and stop outwardly throwing tantrums, she still struggled to _truly_ calm down on the inside – but with Susan’s touch she’d already melted into a puddle. She knew exactly how to handle Ginny’s fiery temper and bring her back down to Earth. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” Susan smiled when Ginny finally opened her eyes and looked about ten thousand levels calmer.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” Ginny said reaching for Susan’s cheek and leaning forward to kiss her gently.

“Yes, you do,” Susan whispered in between their kiss. “You’d be up here, stuck in your own head, throwing a damn fit for hours.”

Ginny snorted and pulled Susan in further, tilting her head to kiss her deeper when she heard the door to her bedroom creak open, followed immediately by a voice.

“Ginny, I –“ George stopped midsentence, standing in the half opened doorway staring at the two girls seated cross legged on the bed before him that he had just undoubtably caught kissing. And one of them was his sister.

Ginny and Susan had pushed away from each other the second they heard the noise, but they weren’t stupid – they knew that George had seen them. The wide-eyed expression on his face, and the fact that his mouth was still hanging open from cutting his sentence short was a confirmation of that. Ginny felt her face flush crimson and her pulse double as she tried to rack her brain for a response, but the only thing her mind seemed capable of coming up with was: _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck, fuck, FFUUUCCCKK!_

She sat frozen on her bed, her hands grasping the sheets on either side of her tightly while starring at her brother’s face in horror. Susan was flushed pink and sitting quietly in front of her, no doubt regretting the fact that she didn’t lock the door, and she was looking at Ginny with two surprised eye brows while she waited for Ginny to react. Susan wouldn’t be coming to her rescue this time – not like she had with Neville. This was family, and Susan had stated countless times that while she would support Ginny and stand beside her – it was up to Ginny to tell her family. She wouldn’t be taking the lead here, she would be the supporting role.

Ginny watched as the stunned expression began to fade from George’s face, his mouth slowly closed, and his eyebrow arched as the gears in his head began to turn. She could see him putting the pieces together in his mind until a look of realization struck him. He quickly stepped fully into her bedroom, closed the door behind him and cast a silencing spell and locking charm. He moved so fast that Ginny never even saw him draw the wand that was now in his hand. Before she could blink or speak a word he had closed the distance between her door and the bed and crouched down – throwing his arms tightly around her.

“Ginny – I didn’t know – you could have told me,” George hugged her tightly as he spoke softly. “Ginny, Fred and I are here for you _always_ , if you need anything just let us know – we both love you and support you, and we’re here for you. You don’t need to hide from us Gin – we love you and accept you for exactly who you are.”

Ginny’s brain couldn’t process the reaction and she felt her chest tighten as a wave of emotion crashed over her. The sick nauseating feeling that had been building in her stomach stopped and she felt her eyes prickle as she tried to accept what was happening. She’d always known that George and Fred would accept her – out of all her family members those were the two that she was least concerned about telling. But seeing it now, hearing his words, and _knowing_ it was true was overwhelming. Her shoulders shook as her body went limp and she wrapped her arms more tightly around George. She knew that she was spilling tears over his shirt, but she didn’t care. She was too overwhelmed to speak, unable to articulate how much his words meant to her, that his acceptance was like a heavy burden being lifted from her shoulders.

“It’s okay Gin,” George said when she finally let him pull away. He gave her a kind and understanding smile before he brushed a final tear from her cheek. He wasn’t expecting her to say anything, he knew that this was hard. He then turned to Susan who was sitting with her knees to her chest and a hand to her mouth while her eyes shone brightly. “You, are most welcome in our family.”

“Thank you,” Susan whispered when he hugged her, stifling a single sob in his shoulder. “Thank you, George.”

George crouched by the side of the bed, a look crossing his face that Ginny had never seen before. George was serious – compassionate, but serious.

“I assume that Harry and Hermione already know, but that Ron and the rest of the family don’t?”

“Harry knows,” Ginny nodded as she let out a shaky breath. “I never had the chance to tell Hermione myself before they left – but I’ve no doubt that she’s figured it out after spending so much time with Harry, I wouldn’t be surprised if Ron doesn’t know though.”

“Neville and Luna know too,” Susan said quietly, and Ginny nodded in confirmation.

“Probably some of the other DA members have figured it out – but with the way the Carrows have been implementing punishment, we’re not telling people.” Ginny added. It felt wonderfully weird to finally say these things out loud and speak openly.

“That’s a good choice,” George nodded, he was aware of some of the happenings at Hogwarts – having supplied many of the DA stink bombs and other materials. “I’m guessing you were planning to tell mum and dad this Christmas”

“Yes,” Ginny nodded again.

“Okay,” George looked thoughtful for a brief moment before he nodded to himself. “The passcode to our flat above the joke shop is _lemon sherbert willy whompers_ , our floo is connected to the Burrow – but it’s warded to only allow select people through and you need the current password to get out of the fireplace. I’ll add Susan to the ward list so you can get through. You _know_ that mum and dad love you – and that they will love you no matter what – but if things get too tense or you just need a break and want to get out of here, you can come and stay with us. Our flat is heavily warded just like the Burrow, you’ll be safe there.”

“George,” Ginny said softly as she stared at her brother in disbelief. She felt like she was meeting a completely different side of her brother, a side that hardly anyone ever saw except his own twin. “I – I don’t know what to say, thank you – you – you didn’t have to do that.”

“No, but I wanted to,” George smiled at her again before standing up. “Having a place where you know you belong and are welcomed is the very least that you deserve Ginny. Is it okay if I tell Fred so he knows you might be popping by?”

“Yeah of course, I was going to tell him myself – well everyone, at the same time on Christmas – I uh, I wasn’t expecting this to happen.” Ginny rubbed the back of her head a bit sheepishly.

“Oh, that reminds me!” George said before he turned to the door. “I came up here to apologize – Fred and I didn’t mean to start such a row between you and mom – we were just trying to get her riled up. In hindsight it was a stupid topic to pick and we should have known better. _But_ if it’s any consolation you totally won that argument and I think dad’s really proud of you. He and Fred are still down there talking to mum, they’re trying to get her to come around on the idea that you’re not – you know – 4 anymore.”

“It’s okay George,” Ginny waved her hand to dismiss the whole affair. “I know that you didn’t mean it to get that bad – I also lost my temper and fed the argument.”

“Maybe – but that doesn’t make what we did okay,” George said seriously then turned to wink at Susan. “You’re a really good influence on her you know? Normally she would still be pitching a fit up here – stomping around and yelling at things. I’ve never seen her handle herself so well before.”

“I know she would,” Susan grinned with a laugh as Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Okay – I’ll leave you two be,” George said placing his hand on the door knob and removing the charms. “Oh! But maybe next time just remember to use a locking charm, yeah? I don’t fancy seeing anymore of your activities than I did today.”

-x-x-

The remainder of the day proved to be uneventful. The twins had left to get ready for work before Ginny and Susan came down to the kitchen for lunch, so Mr. Weasley did his best to act as a buffer between his daughter and his wife. Ginny did her best to maintain her calm composure and avoided being alone in the same room with her mum for too long. They spent part of the afternoon playing games and then practiced some spells in the yard before returning inside to get ready for dinner. When Fred and George arrived for dinner with their overnight bags packed, Fred had quietly walked over to Ginny in the kitchen and given her a very firm and extended hug. Ginny managed to keep her outward emotions in check but squeezed him tightly in return, smiling when he then walked directly up to Susan, ruffled her hair and pulled her into a warm embrace.

Dinner was quiet, the twins talked mostly about work, their plans for expansion and Mr. Weasley asked Susan about her favourite hobbies. Everyone did their best to avoid the topic of school all together. It became apparent as the evening progressed that Mrs. Weasley had agreed to disagree with her husband. She most definitely did not support Ginny’s involvement in the war, had clearly not come to terms with the fact that Ginny was no longer a child, and did not want to accept her daughter as the young woman she’d become. Every so often Mrs. Weasley would mutter to herself, shake her head or send Ginny desperate pleading looks – but at least she realized discussing it or arguing with her daughter was a lost cause. Apparently, Mr. Weasley and Fred had convinced her of that much, she had calmed down some, and left the subject alone. By the end of the evening Ginny managed to exchange words with her mum without it exploding into an argument.

The girls played several rounds of exploding snap with Fred and George in the living room before turning in for the night. The four of them laughed loudly, screaming each time the cards exploded and passed around snacks that they’d taken from the kitchen, and by the fourth round the drama from the morning was completely forgotten. Finally, around 1:30 in the morning they decided to turn in and Ginny and Susan made their way sleepily upstairs, brushed their teeth unenthusiastically and then collapsed into bed. Susan didn’t even have the energy to widen the mattress, instead she pulled Ginny close to her chest and snuggled into her warmth. Both of them were too spent to partake in _activities_ , and they fell asleep to the sound of the wind blowing outside Ginny’s window.

-x-x-

The next morning, they awoke in each other’s arms again to the smell of breakfast, pulled themselves from bed and padded their way down the stairs to join the family. Though, this time, breakfast was far less eventful. Bill had owled Mrs. Weasley to say that they would be arriving just before dinner and Mrs. Weasley was busy fussing over what to make. Mr. Weasley sat reading his favourite muggle magazine before gleefully explaining to the remainder of the table the _science_ behind why the turkey Mrs. Weasley was preparing for dinner would make them sleepy.

“Remind me to throttle Hermione when I see her again,” Ginny mutter loud enough for Susan and her brothers to hear after her dad had been rambling on for over 30 minutes.

After breakfast the girls took turns showering and then returned to the kitchen to help Mrs. Weasley prepare dinner – Ginny ignored the occasional look she still got from her mum and instead focused her attention on the potatoes she was charming. Susan as it turned out, was exceptional at cooking spells and helped Ginny once she had finished her own tasks. The twins were quickly kicked out of the kitchen by Mrs. Weasley after they turned the broccoli purple and _lost_ the stuffing – which Ginny suspected would show up later.

Just as the dinner table was being set and the twins had returned to the kitchen, taking their seats, they heard the front door open and Ginny couldn’t help the smile that split across her face. Bill, being the eldest Weasley son, was a full 11 years older than Ginny. When she was growing up, she didn’t know him very well as a sibling since he was at school most of the year for the first 7 years of her life, but when he was home in the summer she often thought of him as a secondary father figure. He always took care of her, helped her ride her broom and stopped her other brothers from picking on her. She was excited to see him – and based off the face that her mum had made yesterday when she mentioned them, she was excited for her mother’s attention to be turned back on Fleur instead of herself.

“Happy Christmas Mum!” Bill called as he walked through the door behind Fleur and began helping her with her coat.

“Merry Christmas Weasley’s,” Fleur’s heavily accented voice swept across the room as she walked in like a radiant glowing orb. Stepping into the kitchen to kiss Mrs. Weasley on the cheek she then made her way around the room to greet everyone in turn. “It is so very good to see everyone! I ‘ope you’ve been well.”

“That’s strange,” Ginny murmured to Susan as Fleur approached. “From the look on mum’s face yesterday I thought for sure she’d been in a row with Fleur again – Hi Fleur, so nice to see you again!”

“Ah, you ‘ave a guest, who is zis?”

“This is Susan,” Ginny smiled as Fleur pulled Susan into a light hug.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Susan said as she accepted the hug, blushing when Fleur gently stroked her hair.

“So very nice to meet you Susan, look at your ‘air! So gorgeous!”

Ginny looked back over to Bill, expecting him to come around and greet the family – but he was still at the open door, back turned to the room and facing outside. Ginny heard him muttering in a low voice and her ears picked up the sound of another voice. Furrowing her brow in confusion she looked between her mum’s grim face and Bill’s back until the voices grew louder and she could make out the words.

“Just come inside – it’s too late to back out now.” Bill sounded exhausted and annoyed.

“I told you I didn’t want to come,” the voice was low but it sounded familiar.

“Well too bad – deal with it,” Bill reached forward and grabbed something before he turned back into the house. The something that he had grabbed was apparently a person, who he proceeded to drag into the house by the back of their jacket, pushing them gently into the room.

“Ron?” Ginny, Fred, George and Susan exclaimed in unison. Fred and George had stood from their seats, their faces crunched in confusion as they looked between Ron and Bill.

An awkward silence fell over the kitchen as Ginny’s brother Ron stood before Bill, shoulders slumped, hair longer than it should be and sporting a look of nervous dread. The pink tinge of his ears was visible when Bill pulled the knitted hat off his head before taking off his own jacket. Fleur had come to stand beside Mrs. Weasley, placing a gentle hand on her forearm supportively. Ginny glanced back to her mum, seeing the tight line of her jaw again – then to her dad who now looked exhausted and sad.

 _Something’s happened_ , Ginny thought as her stomach began to knot and worry washed over her.

“Ron, what are you doing here?” Ginny asked nervously, taking a step forward toward her ashamed looking brother. “I thought you were with Harry and Hermione –are they here too? Are they okay?”

“No,” Bill answered after Ron continued to stand in the kitchen mutely, his eyes fixed angrily at the ground. Bill had heard the building panic in his sister’s voice – certain that she was concerned for her friends. “Nothing’s happened, they’re not here – just Ron – okay, everyone sit down. Let’s not hold up dinner, mum worked hard.”

Slowly the twins sat down in their chairs, but their eyes didn’t leave Ron. Mrs. Weasley’s jaw clenched further, but she allowed Fleur to steer her to the table and took her seat. Ginny continued to near her chair, watching as Bill pushed Ron forward to the table and into an empty seat. She could feel Susan hovering at her elbow, unsure if she should sit or remain standing with Ginny.

“Ginny,” Mr. Weasley’s voice caught her attention and she looked down the table to her father. His eyes were pleading. “Please come take a seat, I think everyone has had a long day – we can all talk afterwards.”

 _Something’s happened_ , Ginny thought as she clenched her jaw and slowly took her seat next to Susan. She could see the visible relief on her father’s and Bill’s faces when she kept her mouth shut and didn’t demand answers, instead joining the thick tension at the table. The twins looked uneasy, Fred opened his mouth twice about to say something before he begrudgingly stayed silent. George looked at Ginny with a raised eyebrow, silently asking if Ginny knew what might be going on. Ginny shook her head and made a frustrated face to convey her agitation.

“Good,” Mr. Weasley said once the gang was seated. The stress in his face relaxing a fraction as his kids actually listened to him for once. “Well I just wanted to say Merry Christmas to everyone! And thank you to Molly and the girls for putting together such a lovely meal. Everyone, dig in!”

Ginny picked up her fork and narrowed her eyes at Ron, her grip tighter than necessary and she bit back her questions until _later_. Knowing that the odds of them making it through this dinner without another explosions seemed minimal to none.

Ginny started scooping food on to her plate, everyone grabbing from the bowls and dishes that were closest to them before they began passing items around. With each quiet murmur of _thanks,_ the tightness in the air grew. It felt warmer than the Hogwarts train compartment, and Ginny could smell the tension in the air. Fred and George looked angry, Bill looked tense, Mr. Weasley looked like he was about to collapse from exhaustion and her mum looked like a tea kettle ready to whistle. With every stiff movement and every scratch of cutlery Ginny could feel a ringing begin in her ears. She tried to keep control of her temper, even though she was desperate to ask the obvious questions that everyone at the table _clearly_ wanted to ask. _Why the fuck was Ron here?! Where was Harry?! Where was Hermione?!_

It took every ounce of her self-control not to dive across the table and throttle her idiot brother – to make him tell her everything. As Ginny chewed the grip on her fork began to tighten, while the expression on Fleur’s face became more confused as she looked down her plate. Ginny knew that she couldn’t hold it in any longer, she couldn’t pretend to have a _nice family dinner_ when _something_ had obviously happened. 

“Why is zer stuffing in ze carrots?” Fleur finally asked as she held up her fork to examine the bread that was peeking out of a rather plump piece of hollowed out carrot.

“Why is Ron here and not with Harry and Hermione,” Ginny answered dropping her fork to her plate with a clatter. “That’s the question we should really be asking.”

“Ginny,” Bill pleaded, his eyes looking desperate now.

“No – we want to know too,” the twins cut in, putting their cutlery down much more delicately than their sister.

“What the bloody hell is going on Ron, are Harry and Hermione okay?” Ginny asked.

“I don’t know,” Ron muttered as he stared at his plate.

“What do you mean you don’t _know_?” Ginny’s eyes narrowed as she leaned across the table. “You left with them – you’re the last one who would have seen them – where are they?”

“I DON’T KNOW,” Ron yelled as he dropped his fork to the table and dropped his head into his hands. “SEE! This is exactly why I didn’t want to come here Bill! No one will leave me alone about it!”

“Ron,” Mr. Weasley warned, trying to regain control of the situation before him.

“Well why don’t you explain why you’re here to start with,” Ginny’s voice was tight, she refused to back-pedal on her behaviour and start yelling. “Why aren’t you with them?”

“Because I _left_ okay! You want to tell me I’m a shitty person too and crap all over me like mum and dad! FINE! Go ahead!”

“You _left!”_ this time it was Ginny, Fred and George who responded in sync, all three of them dumbfounded by Ron’s response.

“You _left_ them?” Ginny repeated, her face turning into one of disgust. “You left Harry and Hermione – what did you do – just abandon them?! Did you tell them you were leaving? Why would you leave?”

“You don’t know what it was like out there!” Ron yelled again, pushing his chair out and standing up at the table. Bill grabbed his sleeve tightly to keep him from darting off or jumping at Ginny. “It’s getting fucking dangerous out there!”

“Right,” Ginny spat with venom in her voice. “So, when it gets dangerous you leave – I would have thought that would be the time to _stay_.”

“Oh, fuck off Ginny – you don’t have a fucking clue what you would do, you have no idea what it’s like out there!”

“I know that I wouldn’t leave my _friends_!” Ginny snapped, her voice rising as she pushed her own chair back to stand. Refusing to sit while her idiotic, pathetic coward of a brother stood there and pointed down at her.

“Yeah, of _course_ you wouldn’t” Ron sneered at her. “Because everyone else in this family is just so fucking perfect – I’m the only one who fucks up, the only one who makes mistakes! You don’t _know_ what it was fucking like – you don’t know what we went through! I made a mistake! A _fucking_ mistake! One that I regretted instantly!”

“Then why didn’t you go back?” Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

“Because I fucking couldn’t!” Ron yelled, turning to face his older brother as his voice broke. “I tried to go back – the second I left I tried but I got caught by fucking snatchers – then I couldn’t find them!”

“So, you’ve just been hiding out at Bill’s like a coward?” Fred asked, the tone of his voice making it obvious how little he thought of Ron in that moment.

“Oh – fuck you Fred!” Ron yelled, turning to face his brother. “Like you’ve never made a mistake before.”

“Alright that’s enough!” Mr. Weasley said coming to stand at his seat.

“Ron sit down,” Bill tugged at his arm.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to come here – I don’t need this shit Bill, I already know _I’m_ the bad guy. I already know that I’m the asshole – I don’t need all of you to remind me.” Ron’s voice was positively hoarse now and Ginny could see the shimmer of tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake Ron,” Bill snapped, getting to his feet and using both hands to shove Ron back in his chair. “Ginny _sit down!_ Ron, I didn’t bring you here so that everyone could take their shot at you – I’m not a sadistic asshat. This is _exactly_ why dad wanted everyone to just _take_ a _seat_! Why is it that this family is _incapable_ of having normal conversations without everyone losing their shit and just screaming at each other! I wanted you to come Ron, because things _are_ getting worse, because as you said – things are _dangerous_ out there, and because we don’t know when the next time will be that we all get to gather around this table – or if there will even be a next time! For all we know one of us or all of us will be dead before this war is over! I brought you because I wanted everyone to see each other one _last_ time and enjoy a nice fucking Christmas dinner!”

The entire room was silent, and Bill was panting. Ginny had taken her seat instantly when Bill had yelled at her and was staring up at him with awe and surprise. She had never seen Bill lose his temper – he was always the collected one in the family and his outburst had sobered all of them. She was still absolutely livid at Ron and she wanted to pummel the living shit out of him for deserting their friends – but her heart ached at the words that Bill had spoken, he was right. She didn’t know what was going to happen in the war. She didn’t know who would be lost to it. Her very own girlfriend was a prime example of someone who had had their family ravaged by war.

She flicked her eyes to her parents who were both staring at Bill wordlessly – it was abnormal for them to allow such language in the house, or to allow such a commotion to start without joining in or trying to defuse the situation. But Bill had stolen the spot light and beat them to the punch. Ginny realized that her parents had known that Ron had come home, that was why her mum was so tense about Bill and Fleur coming for Christmas. They weren’t saying anything now because – well because they probably had nothing else to add, and evidently, they had already spoken to Ron in person and said their piece. From what Ron had screamed and from the way he stood there on the verge of tears, apparently her parents hadn’t coddled him.

“Thank you, Bill,” Mr. Weasley breathed as he nodded his head. Bill slowly sank to his seat looking somewhat dazed in the aftermath of his own explosion and Fleur placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. What’s done is done – right now we don’t know where Harry and Hemione are, the last information we have from the Order suggests that they are safe, but their whereabouts, or what they are doing remains unknown. Times of war are _hard_ – they challenge even the strongest bonds, tearing people apart and pushing us to our limits. Right now, the most help we can offer – the best way we can aide the war – is to stick together and stay strong.”

Ginny’s shoulders softened as her dad spoke, and she saw Ron wipe his cheek with his sleeve from the corner of her eye. Fred and George were completely still, something that was rare to see, while her mum still sat motionless at the table – but instead of her tightly clenched jaw, she now just looked sad.

“I won’t lie to you children,” Mr. Weasley said quietly, eying his wife briefly before he continued to speak, revealing information that Mrs. Weasley had preferred to keep from her children. “Things are indeed _very_ dangerous. The war has proved to be much more difficult and much more political than the Order anticipated, and right now we are struggling to keep up with _you know who’s_ forces. His support is growing by the day and ours is dwindling. This upcoming year will _not_ be easy, and the truth is – with Dumbledore gone, we’re not sure how we’ll pull through. So please – don’t fight amongst yourselves. Let’s just enjoy this time that we have together.”

With that Mr. Weasley took his seat and everyone slowly began to eat. His speech seemed to calm the room, everyone solemnly digested the information that he shared while keeping their eyes on their own plates. The room was still tense, but the tone was different, everyone was choosing to let their anger go so they could just be a family. When dessert was finally brought out Fleur complimented Mrs. Weasley on the pie and Fred asked Fleur if she had enjoyed the stuffing filled carrots – indicating that he could teach her the spell if she was interested.

After dinner Ron retreated to his old bedroom and everyone left him undisturbed. Ginny played a game of exploding snap with her brothers and Susan, and Fleur helped Mrs. Weasley clean up. Mr. Weasley helped in the kitchen before joining in on a final game of cards. It felt odd, to be at home, to feel comfortable yet also uneasy. They were tip toeing around one another and talking softly over evening tea. Fleur spoke with Susan about hair care spells and Ginny discussed some new joke shop products with Fred and George while Bill talked quietly to their parents. Finally, when the clock struck midnight, they retired to their rooms.

Ginny lay in her bed holding an already sleeping Susan tightly to her side, feeling the odd sensations from the last few hours drift through her body. The house was quiet, she could hear the familiar creaks from the walls and the groan from window and the wind rattled against it. Despite the overwhelming exhaustion that she felt in her bones her mind was wide awake, mulling over the anxiety that had begun to fill her head as her eyes staring aimlessly at the ceiling in the faint moonlight.

 _How in Merlin’s name am I going to announce our relationship to everyone tomorrow after everything that’s happened_?

To be continued in part three…


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four: Ginny’s Story – Part Two: A Christmas Holiday Special (Part Three)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Ginny Weasley’s Holiday Special! (Part Three)
> 
> 1\. You make my world a happier place  
> 2\. Please enjoy and let me know what you think, I always read the comments and feedback and I find it very helpful to keep improving!
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> \- lots of cussing  
> \- derogatory terms being dished out  
> \- family drama and coming out
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

Ginny awoke Christmas morning feeling much like she’d been hit with a bludger. Her head ached from the emotional rollercoaster the day before and her heart felt heavy. She was so fucking mad at her brother – he was an asshole. Leaving your friends during a time of war was the most selfish and cowardly thing one could possibly do – and Ron had done it. Honestly, she wasn’t even surprised that it happened, Ron had never been overly loyal and he didn’t exactly have nerves of steel. He was often a pathetic excuse for a friend. More than anything Ginny was just disappointed in him, disappointed and severely concerned about Harry and Hermione. What made her most frustrated though was that even though she hated Ron right now for leaving Harry and Hermione Merlin knows where to fend for themselves, she couldn’t help the microscopic part of her that actually felt bad for him. Ron was clearly upset by his actions and regretted leaving his friends.

 _Good_ , Ginny thought bitterly as she yawned and curled into Susan further. _That dumb selfish mother fucker should feel guilty. Asshole._

“Good morning,” Susan yawned as she turned in Ginny’s arms.

“Good morning,” Ginny couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips as her eyes met with Susan’s bright honey coloured ones. “I’m sorry about yesterday – my family has always been loud, but usually we’re not so angry.”

“It’s okay,” Susan said giving Ginny a soft kiss on the lips. “A lot of shit is going down right now Gin – I get it, things are tough right now, everything is unsure, and people just don’t know how to handle it.”

“Yeah,” Ginny sighed as she brought her hand up to brush loose hairs from Susan’s face. “Thank you for staying despite all this – for being here with me.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Susan flashed another one of her beautiful smiles.

“Merlin you’re perfect,” Ginny mumbled as the pad of her thumb brushed over Susan’s cheek. “Despite everything – this is the best Christmas morning I’ve ever had.”

“Hmmm,” Susan murmured, kissing Ginny’s hand and moving in closer. “I don’t smell breakfast yet – maybe I can make it even better.”

“I like your thinking,” Ginny whispered before capturing her lips.

Susan moved her hand down Ginny’s side, stroking the curve of her waist before she slipped her hand under her pajama pants. She knew exactly how to touch Ginny to elicit a response – her hand quickly finding the sensitive bud between Ginny’s folds, stroking her fingers softly and causing Ginny to moan into her mouth. It didn’t take long for Susan to get Ginny completely wound up, writhing under her touch and pushing her hips into Susan’s fingers.

“Shit Susan,” Ginny panted as Susan kissed her neck and continued the circular motion of her fingers. “Oh fuck, right there – ugh Merlin it feels so good.”

“Do you want me to make you come?” Susan purred into her ear, nipping at the lobe and slipping her fingers inside.

“Yeess,” Ginny shuddered, gripping Susan’s frame tightly as the coil at her center became impossibly tight. “Please make me come – just like that – “

Susan added a second finger, pumping her with slightly curled fingers – in and out as her thumb circled her clit. With each motion Ginny wriggled more, shivers cascading over her body as the tension built. Pushing more firmly against her bud Susan stroked the bundle of nerves deep within her until she came undone – a wave of pleasure rippling through her, her eyes shut tight as she rode out the high.

“I love it when you come,” Susan whispered as she dusted Ginny’s face with light kisses, sliding her hand out from her pants and gently rubbing her side.

“I love it when you make me come,” Ginny grinned, pulling Susan into a tight hold and kissing her deeply.

A loud knock sounded on the door and startled them apart from their own little world.

“It’s Christmas!” Fred yelled and he continued to tap the door excitedly creating random noises. “You gotta get up!”

“But actually though,” George’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Mum says to come help with breakfast and I doubt she’ll be as nice waking you up as we are.”

Ginny groaned and hauled herself from the bed, taking a second to make sure that her clothes were on straight and that Susan was decent before she dispelled and lock and silencing wards and then wrenched open the door.

“Right, because this,” Ginny began randomly tapping her own door with both hands in the same annoying manner that Fred had done. “Is a super nice way to wake up.”

Both twins grinned at her before standing straight and turning on spot to salute Susan, who was still laying in Ginny’s bed.

“Good luck with her Admiral,” Fred said as he finished his salute. “We do not envy you.”

“She is not a morning person ma’am,” George added when he finished his own salute with a foot stomp.

Ginny rolled her eyes as they both turned swiftly and marched down the stairs in perfect formation.

“To breakfast lieutenant,” Susan said with a formal tone as she hopped out of bed and headed out the door behind the twins.

“Wait why am I the lieutenant?” Ginny asked. She didn’t have much muggle military knowledge, but she was pretty sure that lieutenant ranked lower than Admiral.

“Because I am the Admiral,” Susan said looking at her as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. “I would have thought that was obvious – even your bothers know I’m in charge.”

“Oh, hell no! You three are not taking sides,” Ginny yelled as she chased Susan down the stairs to the kitchen.

-x-x-

Breakfast proved to be quite pleasant, it didn’t take long to prepare, and everyone ate quickly so they could bring their tea into the living room to drink while opening presents. Ginny grinned when her father opened the muggle jack knife that her twin brothers had gotten him – Mr. Weasley was very impressed with the device and spent much of the morning playing with it and constantly taking it out of his pocket. Fleur gifted Mrs. Weasley a rather expensive looking tea pot that Mrs. Weasley fawned over and promised to treasure forever. Ron sat somewhat solemnly in the corner, opening his gifts and thanking everyone quietly. Ginny was pleased to see that it looked like he might have cried the night before.

Fred and George loved the book that Ginny had gotten them, it was titled ’ _101 easy but uncommon spells that you never knew could be so useful_ ’. Ginny had found it when shopping with Hermione during the summer at the old used bookstore in Diagon Alley. She’d stumbled upon the book while waiting for Hermione to finish her browsing – the title had been what caught her attention – when she skimmed through the contents she immediately realized that Fred and George would likely be able to use some of the spells for their joke shop products. Susan was practically brought to tears when she opened a rather large lumpy present to find a _Weasley_ _jumper_ inside – she pulled it on very enthusiastically and refused to take it off for the remainder of the morning.

Once presents were finished and everyone settled into friendly but cautious chit chat, Ginny and Susan slipped back upstairs to shower and change out of their pajamas – though Susan put her Weasley jumper back on once she had finished drying her hair. They had just come down the stairs and were standing in the kitchen with a fresh cup of tea when Ginny decided to bring up the topic that had been plaguing her mind since the night before.

“Susan,” she said quietly, knowing that her family members in the living room around the corner wouldn’t be able to see or hear them. “I’m not sure if I should tell them.”

“Because you don’t know how, or just given what’s happened?” Susan asked as she took a sip of her tea calmly. “Either way I completely understand and will support you.”

“Just given everything that’s happened,” Ginny sighed and then rubbed her temple. “I _also_ don’t know how to – I want to – but I just don’t even know where to start. Do I wait till lunch and be like: _oh hey mum can you pass the sandwiches, also I’m gay, how’s the salad?_ ”

Susan snorted into her tea and smiled at her sympathetically.

“There is no right way or wrong way Ginny – you just tell them and then work it out after. I mean, obviously you try not to break the news at funerals or birthdays – that would be less than _ideal_ and wouldn’t be the best way to do it.”

“How did you tell your parents?” Ginny asked as she leaned against the counter and enjoyed the heat from her mug against her cold hands.

“I think they always just sort of knew to be honest.” Susan said as she furrowed her brow in thought. “I told them while we were all sitting having tea – it was weird actually. It was a hot summer night, the window was open, a breeze was blowing in and my mom was doing a crossword puzzle while my dad was reading. I can still see the whole scene in my head, I was just sitting there staring out the window into the back garden and all of a sudden something just clicked in my brain and the words came out. It was like ‘ _now’s the time’_ , so I just said it, to no one in particular – I just said ‘I’m gay’, then I took a sip of my tea like it was the most normal and causal thing I could have said. My parents both looked at me – and I’ll never forget this, my mom smiled and patted my hand.”

“Were they upset?”

“No. I think my dad’s exact response was ‘ _oh that’s nice dear, have you met any nice girls at school?’_ He’d never really been one to give big reactions though… and my mom just thanked me for telling her. I don’t think my experience is a good example of what’s _typical_ for most people _.”_

“Probably not,” Ginny muttered looking over her cup toward the non-visible noise of the living room. “My family is like a pack of wild crups that scream louder than mandrakes.”

“They’re not that bad,” Susan said turning toward Ginny and resting her hand on the counter between them. “They’re just passionate. They care a lot, and I think that’s just how they show it.”

“You’re just biased because you got a Weasley jumper for Christmas,” Ginny said lowering one of her hands and placing it on top of Susan’s, then intertwining their fingers. “You know they’ll still give you one next year even if you’re honest and say what you really think.”

“Why are you holding hands?”

Ginny’s eyes tore from Susan’s, her head whipped around to face Ron who was standing in doorway to the kitchen. Her mum, dad and brothers were just steps behind him – all of them making their way to the kitchen for a snack. They all slowed when they reached Ron who was standing in the middle of the wide doorway where he stood staring at Ginny and Susan. Instinctively Ginny’s hand tightened further around Susan’s fingers and if it wasn’t for the fear that was flooding her mind, she would have been worried she might break them. Her heart raced as she stared at the confused and somewhat angry look on her brother’s face – whether she was ready or not it seemed like now was the time.

“Ron – what the, did you forget how to walk,” Fred laughed as he walked around his brother and came to stop just inside the kitchen, picking at the remains of breakfast that still sat on the table.

Ginny remained frozen on spot as her mum and dad maneuvered easily around Ron, each of them giving Ron a confused look as they passed. Ginny saw her dad look across the kitchen, his eyes locking onto them standing against the kitchen counter where their tightly joined hands and Ginny’s wide but determined eyes were clearly visible. Ginny saw a flash of comprehension cross her dad’s face.

Her mum had approached the table to set down her tea mug and was completely unaware that anything was happening. At the same time George followed through and came to stand beside Fred as he noticed the girls. He poked Fred quickly in the arm to get his attention, motioning with his head toward them and whispering something in Fred’s ear. Fred looked up toward them, he gave them a thumbs up while George nodded firmly to the girls in support. Bill and Fleur made their way in behind Mr. Weasley – Fleur spotted their hands immediately, her eyes lit up and she gave them a soft smile before tugging on Bill’s sleeve.

“Why are you _still_ holding hands?” Ron repeated, his eyes flicking between the two of them in utter confusion.

“What are you talking about Ron?” Mrs. Weasley asked before Ginny had managed to open her mouth in response. Mrs. Weasley glanced up from the table to her son – then noticed how everyone was standing in an odd semi-circle by the doorway staring behind her. She promptly turned on her feet to face the girls, her eyes flicking between them and then down to their tightly gripped hands. Ginny could tell that she had still not grasped the situation.

Felling her face heat up Ginny stared at the crowd of Weasley’s that stood before her, she felt like she was a professor standing in front of a classroom about to give a lecture. It was like being on display, like being watched like an animal at a zoo – this was not how she wanted this to happen. But, to be honest, she had no idea how she _wanted_ this to happen. She had run a million scenarios in her head, a thousand different dialogues, and countless different approaches. She’d considered telling her parents, first then her siblings. She considered telling her siblings first then her parents. She’d even considered telling everyone and just never telling her mum.

She’d always suspected that Fred and George would accept her. She had her doubts about Ron, her mum and Bill. She figured that Charlie would understand, since he was such a free spirit and had no interest in following the _traditional_ ways. She was surprised so far at Fleur’s positive visible reaction – which gave her hope that maybe Bill would come around. Her dad would love her no matter what, she doubted he would _understand_ it – but she knew that he would support her regardless. Ginny felt Susan squeeze her hand gently, breaking her out of her frozen state.

 _Well,_ Ginny thought as she took a deep inhale and set her shoulders back. _Time to earn my reputation as a brash and fearless Gryffindor._

“We’re holding hands, _Ron_ , because we’re together.” Ginny said calmly and firmly. She stepped closer to Susan and moved their hands from the counter to hang in between them. Her eyes were fierce, looking over each member of her family in turn – daring them to challenge her.

“What do you mean _together_?” Ron asked, spitting the words with unwarranted venom and making it sound like he didn’t understand her statement at all.

Ginny sighed, it was like his brain just didn’t work sometimes.

“Together as in _together_ Ron – we are together, we’re a couple,” she continued her tight hold on Susan’s hand, maintaining control of her voice but feeling her annoyance flare. She glanced around the room, trying to gauge the reaction of the rest of her family.

“You’re a _couple_?!” Ron’s eyebrows shot up into his hair and then she saw his features change to disgust. “You’re cheating on Harry?! I knew you could be a bitch sometimes, but I never took you as a _slag_.”

“Ron!” Mr. Weasley shouted turning angrily to his son. “You will not use that language in this house or insult your sister!”

“But she’s bloody cheating on Harry dad!” Ron yelled, pointing a finger at Ginny and glaring back at his father. “She’s a bloody slag!”

“I’m not a slag you dimwitted wanker!” Ginny’s voice had risen as she struggled to control her anger and keep her wand in her pocket. How she would love to curse her idiot brother into oblivion right now for even suggesting she would do such a thing to Harry. “Harry _knows_ Ron – we broke up before school ended last term.”

“Harry knows?” Ron shook his head in disbelief. “ _Funny_ , he never mentioned it to me.”

“Well _maybe,_ that’s because you didn’t stick around long enough to find out!” Ginny said through clenched teeth. It was a low blow, she knew it – but Ron had become a giant asshat and she was starting to care less and less about preserving his feelings when he was so ready to throw insults at her and question her integrity.

Ron went silent, his face furious as his ears tinted pink.

“We agreed to keep our breakup secret until I sorted things out, until we could tell everyone together – but given how this summer went, we didn’t exactly have the chance.” Ginny continued, choosing to ignore her brother all together and speak instead to the remainder of the Weasley’s in the room. Desperate to get control of the situation and announce this the way she wanted to. “We never meant for it to go on this long – I wanted to tell everyone sooner, just with the war and Harry going off, there never seemed to be a good time to bring it up.”

“Or maybe,” Ron spat clenching his fists and preparing to attack again after recovering from Ginny’s blow. “He was just embarrassed to find out that his girlfriend was a bent twat – how long was it after you ‘ _broke up’_ when you got together with _her_? Or did you only find out you were _bent_ after you’d already hooked up? Was that how it happened – you cheat on my best mate and felt so bad that you broke up with him?! No wonder he never said anything!”

“Alright that’s enough,” Mrs. Weasley yelled as she smacked Ron over the head. “One more word Ronald Weasley and you’ll regret it – we _do not_ speak like that to our family in _this_ household.”

“We get that you’re having trouble processing this Ron, but this isn’t about _you_.” George spoke dangerously.

Looking at her brother as he spoke Ginny realized that at some point while Ron had been insulting her George must have drawn his wand because he was now gripping it tightly in his hand and pointing it at Ron’s face. Fred looked angry at his side, he was glaring at Ron intensely, and his right hand had a careful hand on George’s sleeve – as if preventing him from actually casting a spell.

“Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley turned to her daughter, her face looking stunned and confused. Ginny could feel her heart drop as her mother searched her eyes. It was so glaringly apparent that her mum was refusing to process the information, that she wasn’t accepting what was happening. “Ginny – dear, are you sure? Are you really?”

“Yes mum, I’m really gay,” Ginny said rolling her eyes at the denial that caked her mother’s face. “And before any of the rest of you run your mouths – _NO,_ I wasn’t dating Harry when Susan and I got together. Harry and I _mutually_ broke up at the _end_ of last year. He was the _first_ person I told, and _he_ supported me. Susan and I didn’t start dating until the start of this school year.”

Ginny shot a death glare at Ron who was scowling at her in disgust, his nose wrinkled, while his eyes darted every so often to George’s wand.

“So, it’s still new,” Mrs. Weasley’s voice had a desperate optimism to it, and Ginny immediately knew what she was thinking.

“ _We_ are, yes – but my being _gay_ isn’t! Merlin mum, I know what you’re thinking – this isn’t a phase – I can’t just not be gay because it’s not what you want.” Ginny could feel her heart dropping in her chest. She had suspected that this would be her mother’s reaction but witnessing it was so much worse than thinking it.

“There is nothing _wrong_ with being gay,” Mrs. Weasley said unconvincingly as she tried to backtrack on her words. She ran her hand through her hair in frustration. “It’s just – I, well It’s just-“

“It’s just that _you_ didn’t want _your_ daughter to be gay – right?” Ginny said quietly, the pain in her chest was growing as she stared at the look on her mother’s face. Mrs. Weasley didn’t deny it and instead looked around the room as if wanting back-up from the family that surrounded her. “You’re fine with _other_ people being gay, right? If another family has a gay kid that’s okay – you just don’t actually want any of them in _your_ family – because that wasn’t _your_ plan.”

“Ginny,” Mr. Weasley spoke softly, seeing the hurt in his daughter’s eyes and stepping forward. He was obviously uncomfortable, Ginny could see the worry in his eyes as he looked at her but she knew that he didn’t know how to help – he wanted to support her but he was unsure of what to say or what to do “You know that your mother loves you, we both do –“

“Yeah of course,” Ginny’s voice broke as she spoke. She heard an unfamiliar almost hysterical laugh come from her mouth, it felt surreal, like she was no longer in change of her own body. She laughed again and ran her free hand through her hair. She could literally feel her heart breaking, she was losing her composure and she was powerless to do anything about it. This hurt so much worse than she had ever anticipated. “You love me – just not _all_ of me – just not the gay parts. Because that doesn’t fit in with the picture you wanted does it mum. It’s embarrassing – having a _gay_ witch in your family.”

“Ginny of course I love you,” Mrs. Weasley cooed as she moved toward her, a look of desperation in her eyes. “It’s just – you’re so young, this is so new – how can you be sure? You don’t really know if you’re gay Ginny. I just don’t want you to throw away what you had with Harry because of some confused fad that you’re going to outgrow. If you throw this away you’ll miss out on so much – children, a _real_ family – I don’t want you to regret your decisions later on, there’s a lot going on right now – you’re just confused.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Ginny whispered, though she knew the whole room could hear her.

She stepped away from her mother’s advance and pulled Susan with her, moving them closer to the only true support she felt she had in the room – toward Fred and George. She wanted to leave, she wanted to get away. She could feel the prickle of hot tears at the corners of her eyes and a tightness across her chest that threatened to break.

“Don’t you dare try to make this about _my best interests_ ,” Ginny tried to ignore the single tear that leaked from her eye. She didn’t want to be weak, she didn’t want to lose her strength. She had said she didn’t care what her family thought, that it was _their_ problem to deal with and not hers. But of course she cared. This was her mother. The one woman in the whole world who was supposed to love her unconditionally and support her – and she was rejecting her. “This is just you not wanting to accept the fact that you have a gay daughter. I’ve been gay my whole life mum – I didn’t just wake up in September and say _gee ‘I think I might be gay today’_.”

“Ginny I just think you should give this more time and not be so rash-“

“I can’t do this –“ Ginny breathed out, clutching her chest as the tightness that had been building there finally broke. The tears began streaming down her face, she could hardly see in front of her as she felt her breath coming in short quick rasps as she panted out her words. “You just don’t want to lose Harry – you don’t want to lose the future you envisaged – your imaginary grandchildren – your imaginary perfect daughter – I – I can’t be what you want me to be.”

Blindly she pulled on Susan’s hand, moving rapidly toward the fireplace in a bid to escape the Burrow.

“Ginny wait,” she heard her father call as he moved toward her. Her heart felt like it was going to explode as she reached for the flower pot that held the floo powder – she wouldn’t let herself fall apart in front of her family, she needed to get away, she needed to breath.

“Afternoon Wealseys!” a voice from the door called as a cold draft spilled into the house.

The room froze – Ginny stopped herself two steps from the fireplace, floo powder in hand and spun around to see her brother Charlie step in from the snow with a huge smile on his face. His face immediately fell when he looked around at the seriousness of the scene before him.

Ron was standing angrily in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, he looked ready to explode save for the fact that he was currently being held at wand point by his brother George. George looked livid, his eyes were dancing angrily while his twin looked upset – Fred was borderline restraining him from using his wand. Fleur was gripping Bill’s arm tensely, her eyes darting around the room as she appeared unsure of what to do. Bill looked conflicted, he was steady next to his wife, but the turmoil was evident in his eyes. Mrs. Weasley was clutching the kitchen counter for support, she looked desperate, her eyes panicked and like she was about ready to have a heart attack. While his father, Mr. Weasley, was mid-dash toward the living room with his arm outstretched toward the fireplace. The desperation on his father’s face made Charlie’s jaw clench – it took a lot of distress to visibly upset his father this much.

Then lastly there was Ginny. His baby sister Ginny, who was standing a foot from the fireplace, hand loaded with floo powder, tears pouring from her eyes while she tightly clutched the hand of a gorgeous strawberry blond girl who he’d never seen before. Charlie might have been confused by the scene before him if not for the fierce way the strawberry blonde stood by his sister and the obvious devastation on his Ginny’s face. He could see the hurt, feel the ache, sense the rejection and her need to flee.

“Oh,” the word tumbled from his mouth as his brain quickly put the pieces together. The tension in the room was so great he could have cut it with a knife, and he instantly understood the desperation in his father’s face. Forgetting his boots and jacket he quickly made for the living room like his dad, wanting to reach Ginny and diffuse the situation before they _never_ saw her again. He knew what his family could be like, and sometimes their love or best intentions did more damage than good. “Okay – maybe we should all have some tea and then Ginny can tell us all about her wonderful girlfriend.”

“Charlie,” His name came as a broken sob from his sister’s mouth as more tears began to pour from her eyes.

He reached the two girls quickly and pulled them both into a tight hug, clutching Ginny to his chest as she continued to grip the floo powder tightly. He was afraid to let go, he knew how determined and how strong his sister was – if she was this upset the situation was bad. If they let her leave now the damage might not be repairable. He looked back over his shoulder towards the other Weasleys in the room, giving them all a look as if to say _what the fuck did you do?_ He wasn’t sure who had done this, but he had his suspicions.

“Zat would be wonderful!” Fleur agreed quickly and loudly, evidently deciding that it was no longer time to sit on the side lines and wanting to declare her supportive stance clearly to Charlie who was eyeing them all with disdain. She knew they needed to calm everyone down and get the room under control before Ginny bolted again. Fleur looked up at Bill fiercely, making it clear where she stood on the subject and challenging him to disagree, but Bill nodded firmly and flicked his wand at the teapot to get tea started.

“Wait – just wait,” Mrs. Weasley spoke quickly, she could sense a lull in the tension, another chance to try and better get her point across. She knew that her daughter was stubborn, and she needed this opening to try and talk some sense into her. She was unwilling to let this go, unwilling to let her daughter continue to throw away the happy life she had ahead of her with Harry. She pushed herself away from the counter and began approaching the living room as she spoke, her eyes still desperate to change the situation. “Charlie hold on, let’s not just rush into anything – we need to discuss this -”

“What’s to discuss?” Mr. Weasley asked, his voice much louder than usual. He closed the distance between him and his daughter who was currently being held tightly in place by Charlie. He gripped his son firmly on the shoulder and gave him a nod. Charlie loosened his grip to step away from the girls and Mr. Weasley took a breath, leaning down to look his daughter in the eyes. Her face was pink, her eyes were bloodshot, and tears continued to pour down her cheeks – but her fiery determination was still there. She stared back at him intently, her eyes fierce and defiant.

Mr. Weasley was excellent at solving logical problems, organizing, planning and even rallying people in times of need. He was not however, good at comforting upset people or dealing with emotional topics. Usually that was Mrs. Weasley’s area of expertise – but this news was clearly proving to be too much for his wife to handle. Between Molly’s disappointment in Ron, her feelings of failure over Percy and the stress of the war, this was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. He knew that she would come around in her own time, Molly loved Ginny, and her reaction right now was simply a knee-jerk one. Her hot-headed attitude was clouding her judgement and making her act irrationally.

This was the howler from second year all over again – a quick, temperamental and angry reaction that she had regretted after she had calmed down. It was embarrassing – a grown adult sending a screaming letter to a child at school. Similar to how it was then, he knew that when his wife calmed down, when she’d had a moment to come to terms with Ginny’s announcement and accept the information she would undoubtably be mortified by her own reaction.

Right now, Mrs. Weasley was mourning the loss of the life she had planned for her daughter, her only daughter. She had desperately wanted a girl for so many years, she wanted to be there when her daughter got married, when he daughter had children, when her daughter became a mother – and right now Mrs. Weasley felt like that life was vanishing before her eyes. He knew that she was clinging to the image she had of Ginny in her head, what she wanted Ginny to be because she couldn’t let it go. But Mr. Weasley knew that Molly’s image of their daughter could be repainted, he knew that Molly would become excited for the new future Ginny had – and that Molly would realize just how incredibly special it was that Ginny had shared her truth with them. She just needed time to process things.

Right now though, _this_ needed to stop. He may well _understand_ why his wife was reacting the way she was – but that didn’t make it okay. He wouldn’t allow her to damage the relationship any further.

“Ginny,” Mr. Weasley said slowly, holding her gaze firm as he spoke only to her. “You know that I love you no matter what – and that I will always support you. Always.”

Ginny clenched her jaw, holding in the sob that threatened to burst from her lips as her father pulled her into a tight hug. The pain in her heart was immense as she breathed in the familiar warm scent of her dad’s Christmas sweater, flooding her mind with the memories of her childhood and making her chest tighten. She always knew that he would support her, and she let out a deep breath as he pulled away.

“Susan,” Mr. Weasley said with a small smile, his eyes flicking back over to his daughter. He wanted to show her that he meant what he said – that he supported her and always would. He held out his hand formally to Susan and stood up straight. “I believe that we were not properly introduced at the station. I’m Ginny’s dad, it’s a pleasure to meet you – I’m glad that Ginny has found someone who makes her happy.”

“The pleasure is mine Mr. Weasley,” Susan said softly, taking Mr. Weasley’s outstretched hand and shaking it firmly, knowing that Mr. Weasley wanted to extend to her the same formalities that he would when meeting any other partner that Ginny may have brought home.

“Please, call me Arthur – Mr. Weasley is much too formal. It’s an honour to welcome you to the family.” Mr. Weasley said sincerely before pulling Susan into a tight hug.

Ginny’s hand dropped the floo powder, as she brought it up to cover her mouth as she watched her father welcome her girlfriend formally into the family. She could see the shimmer in Susan’s eyes as she hugged Mr. Weasley back tightly and grinned into his shoulder. They were the same words that Mr. Weasley had said to Harry when he welcomed him to the family, and it made Ginny’s heart burst – he was treating them as equals.

“Arthur!” Mrs. Weasley almost cried as she looked between her husband and Susan, her hand clutching her chest. “Arthur you can’t possibly be supporting this – Ginny is still a child, she doesn’t know what she wants!”

“Molly,” Mr. Weasley said sternly, turning to his wife. He looked at her harshly before his eyes softened. When he spoke again his voice was quiet, sad and pleading. “Please… I think we’ve had _more_ than enough excitement for the day – not to mention the last 48 hours. _Please_ , let’s just have everyone calm down. I’ve had enough of everyone yelling and screaming and accusing each other – It’s Christmas day for Merlin’s sake, and I’d like to enjoy some time with my family and those who are important to them.”

Mrs. Weasley stood quiet, her eyes filling with tears as she watched Charlie turn his back to her and usher the girls toward the couch in the living room. George finally lowered his wand and then pushed past Ron to join them. Fred grabbed the biscuits from the kitchen table and then followed closely behind, not looking at Ron or his mother as he passed by.

“Well, ze tea should be ready, yes?” Fleur spoke calmly to Bill, as if the explosion that had taken place only moments ago never occurred. She made her way into the kitchen and started to pour from the kettle while Ron dropped himself into a chair at the table and slumped his head against the surface. Bill followed behind Fleur, grabbing clean mugs and fetching the sugar.

As Ginny sat feeling light headed on the couch she could see her dad make his way back over to the kitchen, no doubt going to speak with her mother. She knew that her mum needed space. She needed time to process everything that had just happened, and it wouldn’t be easy to do if she and Susan were staying in the house. They needed to leave so her mum could deal with this on her own terms. Besides, if Ginny was being honest, she did not even want to look at her mother right now let alone be in the same house. While she knew that she loved her and while she knew that this would pass, a piece of Ginny’s heart felt so broken by the denial that had so readily poured from her mum’s mouth that the thought of staying at the Burrow made her sick. Her blatant unwillingness to accept that Ginny was not who she thought she was, was devastating.

Ginny sat close to Susan on the couch, speaking quietly to Charlie and the twins before the headache hit her. She felt like she’d been in a physical battle. Her head pounded, her eyes hurt, her chest was sore, and she was emotionally dead. The tears had stopped coming because she was so dehydrated there was nothing left to cry. She felt like an empty shell – exhausted, empty and incapable of anything else.

The tea that Fleur brought out helped – and the kind smile that Fleur gave them when she patted Ginny’s knee was reassuring. Despite this though, Ginny knew she was down for the count. She couldn’t be here in this house. She didn’t have the energy to exist around her family let alone talk to them like an actual human being after what had just happened. While she appreciated the support that she was getting from some of her family members and she respected her dad’s request for time with his family – she needed to leave. She felt bad for wanting to go but she needed to lay down and just breath. The only thing that was keeping her from shutting down completely was the fact that Susan was sitting strong and supportively by her side.

Several minutes later Mr. Weasley joined them and gave Ginny a reassuring smile when he sat in his arm chair across from them. Ginny knew that her eyes looked dead when she looked at him, she could tell from the pained expression on his face.

“Ginny,” he said quietly, leaning toward her with his elbows on his knees. “I - I know that I said I wanted to spend some time with everyone today and have a normal Christmas. But that request is unfair. Ginny love, you look exhausted. If you girls want to go take a nap or just call it a night that’s okay. We can visit tomorrow or the next day – we have lots of time between now and your return to school.”

“Thanks dad,” Ginny said flatly, as she was incapable of mustering anything more. She pulled herself off the couch and crossed the room to give her dad a hug. “I’m sorry – I – I didn’t want it to happen like this, I didn’t mean to ruin Christmas.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about because nothing is ruined,” Mr. Weasley said firmly as he hugged her tightly. “It means the world to me that you chose to let us into your life, to see the real you.”

“Thanks dad,” Ginny said quietly when she’d pulled away. She glanced over her shoulder to Susan who was talking with Charlie and Fleur. “I think we might go to Fred and George’s – to give mum some space.”

“I understand – don’t worry about things here. Your mum and Ron will come ‘round – you’ll see.”

“Yeah,” Ginny snorted as her eyes started to feel heavy. “Maybe.”

After saying a quick goodbye to those in the living room Ginny and Susan flooed to Fred and George’s flat, using the password to exit the fireplace and enter the living room. They collapsed quickly on the first couch that they saw, both of them completely exhausted and too dead to even speak. Susan pulled Ginny tightly against her, wrapping her arms around her middle, burying her face into the back of Ginny’s neck and curling up behind her on the couch. Knowing that Fred and George would be bringing their bags over later, they both quickly fell asleep.

On an unrelated note, yet not completely unrelated – has anyone else completed the Pottermore quizzes that sort you into houses, tell you your patronus and your wand? Because I have!! I’ve been having a grand old fucking time ^_^ 


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Liz86000, who used a highly effective attack to ensure that this chapter contained HH relationship building and **stuff** ;)  
> Please note that I did not change my story plan or add content for the sake of it, this was all content that was going to happen, just some of it was supposed to be in the next chapter… but I decided to just kept writing until it happened so that I could get it out in this chapter for you <3 So apologies for the length (normally I would have split this, but those damn Bambi eyes!)  
> My only hope is that you use this great power wisely and responsibly.  
> [In all seriousness I hope you enjoy the chapter :)]
> 
> 1\. Back to Hermione and Harry! Lots of Harry POV in this one.  
> 2\. This one is a bit larger as I had some plot to get through, some atmosphere to set and then some smuts to write. Apologies if you prefer the shorter chapters! I was unable to resist posting this as a whole piece.  
> 3\. So in this chapter H&H start to feel the effects of the war. I’ve been planning on having this happen for a while and was waiting for a natural place for it to occur. Lo and behold, as my fingers got moving today, it started to happen. Then it just fell right out onto the page in a big plop. As a result, this shifts the dynamic at the end of the chapter in the exchange between them – so hopefully you don’t mind, and hopefully it still falls in line with how you want the HH relationship to go. I was planning to move them out of the adorable/perfect/everything is new/innocent phase at some point anyways – since in my opinion, it’s not practical with all the shit going on around them. The desperation is real people! But I was having a hard time doing it until today it naturally spat from my brain today. There is some significance in the last few exchanges - I feel like I've had something similar in past chapters, but this time it is intended as more than just a promise to become better.  
> Anyway, in short, I’m feeling rather insecure about this chapter but that’s likely because I’m coasting on like 3 hours of sleep. I’m not fishing for compliments (and I truly hope you believe me when I say that), but in all sincerity I would love to know what you think. Perhaps the pressure of writing this and bringing it around to a conclusion is starting to weigh on me. I’ve never written anything of this scale before or had a single person read anything I’ve ever written before for that matter. Perhaps I’m just getting nervous....
> 
> 4\. To cut Harry’s hair.. or to not cut Harry’s hair….
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> I’m sure everyone knows the general warnings by now…I’ll only add them at the top for chapters that have content that is difficult or possibly upsetting.  
> WARNING:  
> -Smut in this chapter
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

“I look utterly ridiculous,” Harry groaned as he looked at his Polyjuiced reflection in the small mirror Hermione had handed him moments ago. 

Hermione snorted, bringing a hand up to quickly cover her mouth and feigning innocence when Harry, or rather, a large older woman with tight curly short hair turned to glare at her. She couldn’t help it, things had been rather stressful lately and she really needed a laugh. The purple and green horned rimmed glasses with a gold chain to keep them securely around Harry’s neck was the her favourite addition to the ensemble.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?”

“No,” Hermione almost choked on the word as she tried to keep a burst of laughter at bay.

Harry was standing there trying to look stern – but his large sweater, which featured a glorious winter scene, burgundy coat and bulldog brooch didn’t do much in the way of making him look imposing. Instead he looked exactly like someone's 50-year-old aunt might look. Which was good, because that was exactly the disguise they were going for. She couldn’t deny the fact that she was very pleased with her transfigurations, Harry looked positively perfect, and she grinned proudly at her handiwork.

“Why couldn’t I go as the young girl again?” Harry rolled his eyes at her obvious enjoyment, returning his gaze back to the mirror and tucking a curl behind his ear. “I feel like you could have pulled this off much better than me.” 

“We’ve already discussed this,” Hermione said as she smacked his arm and ignored his comment about her being able to pull off the look of a 50-year-old woman better than him.

She knew that he was just dreading going to see his Aunt Marge and was venting his frustrations. It was the straw breaking his back amongst their other more pressing concerns. It was easier to be frustrated with this task than to allow himself to think about everything else. It was the same reason why she was laughing at his appearance – she had to. She was practically at her wits end and barely keeping it together.

“I'm playing your niece, you’re the one inquiring about purchasing a dog and _you_ will be the one talking to your aunt. You _know_ her, so you’re far better equipped to talk with her than I would be – you can respond with what she’ll want to hear. I look like I’m 12 – there’s no way your aunt is going to even acknowledge a word I say, I’m just there as a prop.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry sighed, throwing his head back to look at the quiet sky of the forest surrounding them. “Let's just hope that I don’t lose my temper – my aunt’s kind of a bitch you know. And by kind of – I mean that she _is_ a bitch.”

“Well… then don’t lose your temper,” Hermione teased as she took back the mirror from his hand and secured it in her purse. “She doesn’t know that it’s _you_ , right now you’re a potential customer – I’m sure that she’ll be nice enough.”

Harry gave her a deadpanned look as she finished transfiguring her jacket into a blue child’s coat, much more suiting of a young 12-year-old girl than the dark grey one she had before. She added a pink pompom hat to her head as a touch of innocence to her look before she examined the remainder of her outfit.

“You severely underestimate my family's capacity to be douches,” Harry’s tone was flat, but he straightened his brooch and rolled his shoulders, resigning himself to the outfit with no further complaint.

Hermione snorted as she finished changing her boots and pants, recalling the phone conversation from the day before. She had called Harry’s aunt under the guise of being interested in purchasing a new puppy from a recent litter (a litter they knew she had after snooping around). At some point, during the conversation Harry’s aunt had felt the need to explicitly tell her that she did not sell her beautiful _babies_ to young children, hippies, vegetarians, or insurance sales men because they could not be trusted.

The stipulations were ideocratic, making no sense and obviously being deeply rooted in bias.

After the call Hermione adjusted her expectations, she held no false hope that Harry’s aunt might be a saint, or even a remotely decent person for that matter – she just hoped that Marge was decent enough to treat a potential customer politely. Taking Harry to see his aunt was a bit of a risk given the history between them and their current mentality, she was silently crossing her fingers that he would behave, keep his cool and not blow up – _or_ blow his aunt up again. Once she had assured Marge on the phone that they were none of those undesirable things they arranged to meet today at 1:00pm to see the puppies on her small farm.

“Alright, let’s get this done and over with – are you ready?” Harry had approached her, hand outstretched in anticipation of their apparition.

“Almost, just let me pocket my wand,” Hermione replied, her morphed face scrunching as she stored her wand in a charmed elongated pocket and ran her hands over her new jacket. She grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him closer. “Okay let’s go!”

The pop of their disappearance echoed through the dead forest that they’d been standing in, with their tent having been packed up minutes before, nothing remained of their presence in the Northern forest. They appeared immediately in a small alley behind a store on a bustling street – they’d picked the location out the day before, so they were able to make their way quickly down the familiar short alley and toward the busy road. Hermione’s hand gripped Harry’s tightly, her opposite hand wrapping her hidden wand in a death grip as they cut through the crowd. Keeping their eyes straight ahead and not stopping for anyone they hailed the first taxi that they saw.

Over the last two weeks Hermione and Harry had been relentlessly brewing potions, training themselves to exhaustion, examining the golden werewolf bracelet and gathering ingredients for the antivenom recipe which Mr. Weasley had sent them. Things had started to get a bit tense in the tent as the days went by. The regular updates from Mr. Weasley about the war efforts by the Order had added to the list of things that Hermione constantly worried about throughout the day and she found that they were keeping her awake at night – but she never stopped reading them. They needed as much information as they could get their hands on, it was just unfortunate that the majority of the information was not favorable.

Several more members of wizarding families known to support Harry and the Order had been killed since the new year, including Lee Jordan’s father. Phineas’ update from Hogwarts had indicated that things were about as bad as they could possibly be, and both Hermione and Harry were worried that Ginny and Neville could be in real danger. They’d sat together silently at the dinner table several nights in a row watching the Marauders Map, finding that both Ginny and Neville spent an awful lot of time with the Carrows – which was deeply concerning. Combine that with the small details that Mr. Weasley revealed about the inner workings of the Ministry and Hermione was starting to wonder how the hell they were going to pull through. So, she threw herself into potion making, aggressive training, and started writing specific notes and instructions in her journal for Harry in case something happened to her. She was exhausting herself, burning the candle on both ends and lighting the center on fire – but she couldn’t stop it, she could feel herself spiraling while the world seemed to burn around her. She couldn’t explain why, but a heaviness had settled over her heart after the apothecary robbery and it was eating away at her slowly.

The only positive that came from their robbery of the apothecary in Ottery St. Catchpole was the actual ingredients they obtained. As it turned out they already had most of the necessary ingredients for the antivenom: four cups of distilled water, a handful of witch hazel, three drops of salamander blood, one pinch of unicorn horn, a lemon, mint, unicorn hair, a bezoar, and yarrow. All that remained was getting their hands on the drool from a black bulldog and fresh snakeweed harvested exactly fifteen minutes after midnight.

Once they had everything Hermione would be able to start brewing the potion on Monday, allow it to stew for three days and then have three small bottles of antivenom. Each bottle would be able to break down all the poison within the bloodstream at the time it was consumed into harmless byproducts, if you were bitten again after drinking the potion you would need to ingest a second bottle. Assuming that they got away after being bitten, they would have enough potion to cure three separate incidents. It was a far easier potion to brew than what she had expected. The difficultly, it seemed, laid entirely on obtaining the highly specific ingredients and determining the combination of the ingredients in the first place. She had yet to ask Mr. Weasley exactly how he came across the recipe, or if he had invented it himself, but she’d made a note of that question in her journal and planned to ask him when she saw him again. She figured that it would be a better story to hear in person.

They climbed eagerly into the warmth of the first taxi that stopped, buckling their seat belts and giving directions to Marge’s farm only 20 minutes out of the city. They knew _exactly_ where they were going, _exactly_ how long it would take to get there, and _exactly_ how long they had before their Polyjuice potion wore off. They were not taking any chances this time. Hermione had set an internal timer to keep them on track, knowing that they would have just under two hours to drive to the farm, meet with Marge, find out how old her dogs were and get out.

They’d spent the last three days staking out his aunt’s farm, examining the surroundings, returning to their tent to discuss their plan of action in the North and then sneaking into the farm at night to see what dogs she had. Based on their investigation they found that Marge had three black bulldogs, and while she may not have given a crap about Harry (or most other people for that matter) she seemed to truly love her dogs, and she took good care of them. The dogs lived in what looked to be a newly renovated barn, which could hardly be called a barn. It was heated, insulated, had running water, bathroom facilities and was very much a second house for the dogs on her property.

The only problem was that they had no idea how old the dogs were and there was no age revealing spell that they could simply cast to figure it out. So, after deliberating over how to proceed the previous morning they finally decided that the best course of action was to call and pose as potential buyers, then ask Marge for more information on her dogs. They had never intended to actually _tour_ the farm, Hermione had tried to ask about the different dogs that Marge owned while on the phone but Marge had outright refused to give out any details on her animals. She firmly stated that all interested and prospective buyers had to come to the farm for a visit – and muttered that giving out information on how they were fed, their ages, and their training would be revealing ‘tricks of the trade’ and that she was ‘not going to give away any secrets’. Harry had thumped his head against the phone booth wall in frustration while Hermione acquiesced and quickly covered for why her voice would be different the next day – claiming to be the cousin of a lady interested in a new puppy and setting up the appointment on her behalf.

So here they sat, Harry bundled in a thick burgundy jacket, bulldog brooch sparkling on his chest in the midday sun while Hermione, his _niece_ , sat wearing a green jumper with a bear on it, a blue child’s coat, and a pink pompom hat that complimented her blonde braided pigtails. The drive to the farm was quick, but they knew it would be. They would have apparated directly on to the farm for their appointment but of course, things were never that simple. Aunt Marge’s farm was extremely open in the front, with a clear view of the road and oncoming traffic due to the barren winter landscape. There was absolutely no way they could apparate to the end of her drive without being seen in the middle of the day. The road she lived on was also rather quiet, so it would be incredibly suspicious if they arrived sans car – undoubtably Marge would be able to hear the oncoming traffic from within her house and would be expecting to _hear_ them arrive.

 _Though_ , Hermione thought as she gazed at her unfamiliar hands, _those are the trivial details in the grand scheme of things_. The aspect that was most concerning about their mission to Marge’s, and the detail that had disturbed their minds and set them on edge for the last two weeks, was the fact that Marge lived on the outskirts of Birmingham – the epicenter of the werewolf activity.

 _Of course she lives in fucking Birmingham_ , Hermione grumbled internally as she peered out the window at the approaching farm and revisited the foolishness of going to the center of their ‘no apparate zone’ to get 8 ounces of dog drool. Birmingham was undeniably the center of the werewolf activity, and they had been actively avoiding going anywhere near it for weeks. Finding bulldogs in England wasn’t difficult – but finding a purebred black English bulldog that was exactly between two years old and two and a half years old wasn’t exactly easy.

They had considered breaking into a vet’s office to review through client files or checking the papers to see if there were any dogs listed for sale – but this would be incredibly time consuming and they wouldn’t be able to guarantee the dog was purebred. Whether or not that actually mattered for the antivenom Hermione was unsure, but she wasn’t willing to take any chances. They had also considered calling around to a few animal shelters or popping in to see if they had any up for adoption, but this had the same issue and would take them months to complete – not to mention the colossal amount of Polyjuice potion that would require. Hermione had already tried calling a few places over the last two weeks and out of the 12 shelters she called only one had a black bulldog, but they had no idea how old he was. This left them with the exclusive option of finding a breeder who could guarantee the breed and the age, and Harry’s aunt was as much of a surefire solution as they could get.

Unwilling to put themselves in more danger than they needed to and wanting to avoid any surprise encounters in town they had apparated directly on to the farm the first night while disillusioned – not caring about the sound of their arrival and fully prepared to bail immediately if they were noticed. They covered themselves with the invisibility cloak and cast their shield charms before they snooped around to locate the dogs and survey the area. Each movement they made was careful, each footstep vanished from the snow and every ten feet they cast detection charms to check for any unwanted visitors. They disapparated back to the far North end of England once they’d gathered their information and then camped in the deep blizzard while they made their game plan. During their second trip to the farm to look at the dogs Hermione _borrowed_ some of the local newspapers from Marge’s recycle bins next to the house, bringing them back to the tent to read in hopes of finding additional information on the attacks. The findings had been sobering, and had been another cherry on top of the harrowing cake of panic that Hermione did not need.

The volume of missing persons accounts was disturbing. Police were urging people to stay in at night and travel in groups. Most of the attacks seemed to happen between midnight and 3am, people were often last seen around bars or popular night club areas and so far, anyone who had gone missing had yet to be located. Right now the Police were attributing the attacks to drug violence, they reported that they were increasing their K-9 searches and had begun to post officers around the popular bars. Though they strongly urged people not to go out if they could help it. After reading through the news they decided that for the first time ever, travelling during the day would be safer than traveling at night. Despite how uncomfortable it made them, going out during the day was their best bet at avoiding another werewolf encounter.

After they had begrudgingly admitting that they would need to call Marge to get the dog’s age they apparated directly into Birmingham in the morning while under the disguise of Polyjuice so that they could place the phone call. Following the conversation with Marge and knowing they would have to go see her the next day they cautiously explored the outskirts of Birmingham to find the most efficient location to apparate to the following day. They needed to reserve as much time as possible to be disguised while on Marge’s farm and factor in the length of time a taxi ride would take. After walking nervously down the street hand in hand as an elderly couple they managed to find the perfect spot. It was away from the night club area of the city, located near a 24-hour grocery store which looked to be constantly busy and only several minutes away from the farm. Standing unassumingly by the bus stop as they surveyed the area, they even managed to grab several more hair samples from unsuspecting patrons for future Polyjuice disguises. With the new hairs, they had two more disguises each before Hermione would need to brew another batch. 

As it happened, their trip to Birmingham would have been required nonetheless, and it would now become even more dangerous. The snakeweed that they needed only grew near water and according to Hermione’s potion book – it only grew natively in England around the Birmingham canal region on the South-West. Hermione had groaned loudly and slumped in her chair when she read the page in her book dedicated to snakeweed. Her reaction drew Harry’s attention away from his book and she turned to him in defeat asking _Why Harry? Why is this our life?_ It was as if the world believed her cake of panic didn’t have enough cherry’s on it already. She’d been feeling the tension build in her body for months, but it was as if the full weight of the war had landed on her shoulders in the last two weeks.

Snakeweed could of course be obtained from apothecaries, or potentially even greenhouses if you knew of a herbologist who grew it. But based on how their last endeavor went they weren’t exactly itching to break into another apothecary any time soon. Besides, Hermione’s continued communications with Mr. Weasley made it abundantly clear that robbing another apothecary was out of the question. Many apothecaries were now being watched, their stocks monitored and some had even closed their doors all together as the Death Eaters began locking down potion supplies in an effort to gain an upper hand in the war. In a lot of ways, breaking into another apothecary would be _more_ dangerous than entering Birmingham during the day to locate natural growing snakeweed. Coming back at fifteen minutes after midnight to harvest it… well that would be a different story. The only thing Hermione could do to try and limit the danger they were about to put themselves in was to locate snakeweed away from the areas that the police had flagged as _hot zones_ for disappearances.

 _Though really, danger is pretty much a given at this point_ , Hermione rolled her eyes to herself before the cab came to a stop. She paid the driver quickly and hopped out behind Harry. Everything about what they were doing felt wrong and she could feel fear settle deep in her bones.

The farm looked different during the day time, almost pleasant in comparison as the sun shone across the bright white snow – nothing like the creepy shadows that lingered across the open front yard in the darkness. She side glanced at Harry, who was doing his absolute best not to scowl under his ever-growing tension and took his arm before making their way up the long driveway. If it wasn’t for the fact that the land was owned by such a terrible lady, that they were in the epicenter of werewolf attacks and kidnappings, and that the war seemed to be consuming them whole – the farm would be rather nice.

-x-x-

“Hello, I’m glad that you made it – oh what a beautiful brooch! I have two myself – a fawn and a red brindle, I just adore them.” Marge’s deep voice greeted them as she opened her front door. They hadn’t even knocked, and she had already appeared, confirming their suspicion that their arrival would be watched.

“Ah yes, my lovely niece Stephanie got me this one for Christmas,” Harry said as he shook his aunt’s firm hand and turned to smile at Hermione who was standing shyly beside him. He hoped she knew that she did not need to impress Marge for any reason other than to obtain information.

“Oh lovely, lovely,” Marge completely ignored Hermione and motioned for Harry to come inside her house. “So, you’re interested in purchasing the best breed of dog on the planet huh? Just leave your shoes on – we’ll be back outside in a moment!”

“Oh yes!” Harry said feigning excitement as he followed Marge down the hall and out through the patio door that faced the renovated barn. Why they didn’t just walk around the outside of the house was beyond him, but he kept his mouth shut and crossed his fingers that they did not run into Ripper. He didn’t feel much like getting his leg mauled today. “I just adore bulldogs – and my cousin Bethany, the one you spoke to on the phone – she said that you would be a good person to contact, I was so glad that she set up this appointment.”

“Too right she was! I don’t usually toot my own horn, but I happen to have the best bitches in the region – probably the country! They make the best pups you’ve ever seen, excellent health and perfect temperament.”

Harry bit his tongue, unable to stop his eyes from rolling at his aunt’s absurd comment. _Yeah right, you don’t like to toot your own horn – what a lying old coot_, he thought bitterly as he followed Marge toward the barn he and Hermione had already visited twice.

“Oh, I’m so excited to see them!” Hermione wiggled in excitement as they reached the doors of the barn and Marge pulled out a key. She was doing a much better job at acting than he was, he was only barely keeping his comments to himself.

“Oh yes – that reminds me, you’re not looking to get a dog for your niece Sofie are you? Because like I already told Bethany on the phone, I don’t sell to children – not these bulldogs, no ma’am – these are top tier, high quality dogs and they need a firm hand.”

“Goodness no,” Harry waved his hand as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Knowing that it was not worth correcting Marge on Hermione’s fake name. “She wouldn’t even know what to do with them – she’s just visiting me over the weekend, wanted to come see them with me – you know how young kids are.”

Hermione smiled up at Marge politely, but didn’t make a peep.

“Good, good. Just make sure you keep your hands to yourself Sofie,” Marge nodded, holding the door open for them to enter and looking sternly at Hermione’s small figure as she passed. “I never asked this on the phone, I much prefer to speak in person – you can tell a lot about a person from their stature, and how they present themselves. Like you, I can tell you don’t put up with crap – it’s good to see that your niece Sofie here actually listens to you. I have a nephew myself who’s as rotten as they come. Ungrateful, lazy – a real piece of work. I keep waiting for the day I find out he’s gotten himself arrested – deadbeat like his parents. Now tell me, have you owned any bulldogs before?”

Harry gritted his teeth, his fists clenching firmly at his side as he tried to control the raging anger inside him. How many other complete strangers had this woman said these things to? How often did she tell people that he and his parents were deadbeats – the arrogance and blatant malice of this woman was unbelievable.

“Yes, I’ve had 4 over the course of my life – after Brutus passed away, I’m afraid it hit me rather hard. It’s been two years – but I think I’m finally ready for another.” Harry toughened his jaw as he spoke. His long fingernails biting into his skin. It looked as though he was biting down the show of emotion over the loss of his dog. Though really, he was choking down his temper and resisting his urge to blow Marge up for a second time – perhaps permanently so. It took every ounce of his self-control not to test out some of his new wandless magic.

He felt Hermione brush his arm gently in support as they followed Marge inside the familiar barn and toward the dog kennels at the back. He needed to stay calm, needed to keep his temper in check.

 _Breath, just breath_ , he chanted as he closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath. They only needed to find out if any of her three black bulldogs were between two years and two and a half years old. Then they could get the hell out of there – maybe he could obliviate his aunt so that they could just apparate away instantly instead of taking another taxi. _In fact, I think I’ll obliviate her anyways_ , he thought as they closed the distance to the pen of bulldog puppies running around happily. The last thing they needed was any sort of connection between them and this city. Not to mention that it would be incredibly satisfying to wipe his aunt’s mind.

“I can understand that – dear lord, I don’t know what I’ll do when Ripper passes away. Sometimes I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to continue the work that I do here. But I think I must – it’s important to ensure the standards are maintained – I fear if I quit people would be limited to a rather poor selection of mutts.” Marge came to stop at the pen and gestured down to the dogs with a look of pure self-satisfaction. “Well here we are, so far only red, green, and blue are spoken for – the rest are available – assuming that you are indeed qualified to purchase one.”

“Yes of course,” Harry answered, unclenching his hands to lean on the fenced in area and peer down at the puppies. He noticed that they each had on different coloured collars, he assumed this was how she told them apart without assigning names. “You can’t just let anyone purchase a pup – some people have no idea what they’re doing.”

“Too right you are I’m afraid,” Marge nodded seriously as she gazed at her prized animals.

“So, who are the parents?” Harry asked turning to face Marge with a serious look and wanting to get this over and done with. He assumed that the only adult dog in the pen with the puppies right now was the mother, probably there to help teach them manners – but unfortunately she was a fawn colour.

“Well that would be Max and Tully – two of my finest if I do say so myself, yes they’re great dogs, bred them myself 4 years back.”

 _Shit_ , Harry thought angrily as he nodded absently. Max was one of the black bulldogs they’d seen when they snooped around the barn, but Marge had just indicated he was four years old. Tully must be the fawn coloured mother, she looked like a good dog – but she wasn’t what they needed. That meant that their options were down to the two remaining black dogs: Radar and Scout.

“Aw they’re perfect! Do you have many other bulldogs, ma’am?” Hermione asked politely, eyes wide and hands clasped tightly in front of her. She’d placed her hands there the second Marge told her to keep them to herself. She was eagerly looking up at Marge and making a play at her ego.

“Yes, I do Sofie! I have 10 adults right now excluding Ripper, who is too old to breed at this point,” Marge said proudly waving her hand to the side where the other dogs were snoozing happily in their own kennels. Calling them kennels was a massive misrepresentation of what they were though, they were like cozy little rooms. Evidently Marge believed in giving her dogs the best treatment possible. “Usually they’re out in the yard – but with the cold we had over the last few days I’ve been keeping them inside. They still get out for a couple of hours a day – but if truth be told I think they’d rather be inside for the winter.”

“Oh wow,” Hermione beamed as she approached Radar’s kennel and crouched down to look at him. “What a gorgeous dog.”

“Ah yes! She has a good eye doesn’t she,” Marge grinned at Harry before she walked proudly over to Hermione who was maintaining a respectable distance from Radar’s door. “So well behaved – gosh my nephew could learn a thing or two from you Sofie! Radar here is one of the best, great lineage and top-notch health. You could not ask for a better dog. I haven’t breed him yet – he just had his second birthday two months ago, but I’ll be getting a litter out of him in the summer.”

“Perfect,” Harry said tightly, and he stepped away from the dog pen. His patience was failing him, they had the information they needed, and he was done listening to his aunt blow smoke out her ass. “Well these dogs look wonderful – But Sofie, I think we should go. We’ll think things over at home and then be in touch.”

“Well just hold on now,” a look of irritation split across Marge’s face and Harry knew things were about to get ugly. “You better not have come all the way out here to waste my time, I happen to be a very busy woman you know, and I don’t like being jerked around! You’re already here, you might as well fill out a form even though at this point it’s not like you’re going to get app–“

Marge’s face went blank and she slumped to the floor.

“Really Harry?” Hermione turned to look at him as she stood from her crouched position. She looked tired as she moved, and Harry knew the stress from everything was starting to wear on her.

“What? We got the information we needed,” Harry shrugged as he walked over to his aunt’s round form and propped her up against the wall next to the puppy pen. It was more than she deserved. “It’s just a stupefy, she’ll be fine. We can wipe her memory and then leave – don’t you think it’s better not to have any ties to this place?”

“Yes,” she fished a vial from her purse, handing it to Harry. He could tell that she was trying to remain in control, trying to be a bigger person than Marge and behave properly. “Just maybe we could have been a little more tactful no?”

“Maybe,” Harry accepted the vial and waited for Hermione to pull the cooked chicken from her bag. “But it doesn’t really matter if we’re wiping her memory anyway – there was no point in dragging it out and listening to her rant. Things would have gotten nasty – besides, now we can apparate away directly and avoid another taxi ride.”

“You’re right,” Hermione sighed as she pulled the chicken from her bag and gave him a sad smile. She looked defeated and shook her head with a scoff. “Merlin she’s a pompous douche, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, I believe I tried to warn you about that.” Harry smiled as he knelt down next to the kennel where Hermione had taken a seat.

“Sometimes it blows my mind that you turned out the way you did, you know?” Hermione pushed the bowl of cooked chicken through the bars and patted Radar on the head.

She had written back to Mr. Weasley after he sent the antivenom recipe to clarify if the chicken needed to be raw or cooked, and how long after the dog ate it they needed to wait until they could collect the drool. He had clarified that it needed to be a chicken breast cooked plain and that the saliva could be taken immediately after the dog had eaten – apparently this worked best since the dog would already be drooling

“I think a lot of people would have turned out bitter, jaded, or angry –“

“Like snakeface?” Harry prompted, raising a brow as he too patted Radar gently on the head.

He’d taken to calling _you know who_ by various different names after Mr. Weasley informed them via the magazine that there was a trace placed on speaking the name _Voldemort_ that would summon snatchers immediately to the location the name was uttered. Harry had vehemently refused to call him _you know who_ and play into the fear mongering attached to his name and instead often referred to him as snakeface, red-eyes, Tom, or dipshit on occasion.

“Harry you’re nothing like him.”

“I’m not like him _now_ no, but Dumbledore showed me some of his memories – Tom had a shit childhood, felt neglected, struggled to find his place – I guess I’m sort of agreeing with you. I could have become bitter, I could have potentially even become just like him – I think the only reason why I didn’t was because of you, Ron, Dumbledore and Sirius. You guys kept me on track. And _you_ never let me get away with being a mopey ass.”

Hermione laughed as she smiled at him, “maybe. I’m sure that more things factor into it than that. I think you have a good soul Harry – you’re truly a good person and – Ugh _c’mon_ , this is gross.”

Hermione’s eyes darted back to the vial she was holding and the giant flow of drool dripping down her arm. She’d taken the large vial back from Harry once Radar was done eating and stuck it under his jowls while she scratched his head with her free hand. But Radar was completely unaware that his drool needed to be collected so it could be part of an extremely important potion that may save lives, so he was panting and whining and wiggling around while he soaked up the attention. His whole butt was moving violently side to side as he wagged his stub and the drool was missing the vial.

“Here,” Harry said chuckling as he vanished the drool from her arm.

“What I’m trying to get at Harry,” Hermione said bringing the vial away from the dog and turning back to Harry. “Is that sometimes I forget just how terrible things were for you before you came to Hogwarts – and well, I’m just glad you’re who you are. I’m glad that I met you, and I’m glad that you’re _you_.”

“I’m glad I met you too,” Harry smiled gently, squeezing her forearm gently before taking the vial from her. He could feel a tug at his heart while she spoke, and it brought up the uneasiness within him that he’d been experiencing all week.

The dogs around them hard started to bark, clearly jealous of the chicken that Radar had received. Their whines echoed around the barn as their butts wiggled in excitement, each of them wanting some attention, sniffing the air in hope of treats. Apparently, Ripper was the only violent dog that Marge had. _Makes sense why he’s her favourite_ , Harry thought as he surveyed the barn one last time _._ They needed to get out of there before anyone else came by to check on the dogs. Harry handed Hermione back her wand.

“You’re better at memory charms, I’ll store this, and you can wipe the last two days from Marge.”

“Deal,” Hermione said, quickly standing to go and tend to Marge.

It only took Hermione a few minutes to wipe Marge’s memories of their interactions over the last two days and confund her so that she would think she fell asleep while sitting and visiting with the puppies. Long before she would wake up, Hermione and Harry exited the barn and apparated away to the safety of the North.

-x-x-

While Harry was thrilled with the success of their first task and pleased that they were now one step closer to brewing the antivenom potion, he was dreading their return to Birmingham to get the snakeweed at midnight. The last few days had been incredibly dangerous but returning at midnight to a known werewolf infested area felt like a suicide mission. He felt heavy, like a bad omen was weighing down on him and bringing a sharpness to the tight pain in his chest that had been building the last few weeks.

He watched as Hermione puttered around the potions lab, writing notes in her journal and prepping all the ingredients that she could while muttering to herself. She’d been writing a lot of notes lately, more than usual. He couldn’t focus on his book, he felt like he was wasting his time, watching minutes of their lives just tick away while he had no assurance that they would still be alive tomorrow.

“Hermione?” He asked after another whole minute had ticked by and he was unable to read a single letter on the open page before him.

“Yeah?” Hermione looked up from her notes, the ingredients she was categorizing laid out in front of her.

“You’re sure that snakeweed doesn’t grow anywhere else?” The words pained him as he said them. He already knew the answer yet he could not stop himself from asking. He was being cowardly, anxious, selfish – wishing to bide their way out of what they _both_ knew they had to do.

“Harry,” Hermione said sadly, her voice low. She didn’t look irritated by his question, she knew why he was asking, understood why he was concerned. She shared the same fears, but they’d both been dealing with them separately and allowing their own tensions to build. “You know it doesn’t, we both looked through the same book – it was also mentioned in Professor Snape’s class in 5th year. Even if it did grow somewhere else – I wouldn’t know where to start looking, we could waste months of time trying to find it and apothecaries are out of the question.”

“I know, I know,” Harry shook his head and ran a hand over his face while trying to shake the dark uneasiness that encircled him. He felt tired, more tired than he had in weeks and he was frustrated and annoyed. They’d been making good progress with the potions, preparation and training – but Mr. Weasley’s replies about the Order’s war efforts had rattled him. The situation at Hogwarts felt like a burn on his soul and his mind was being ravaged by a sense of doom.

His hair had become so unmanageable, constantly falling in his face while he read that he’d tossed it up into a bizarre and messy ponytail to keep it out of his eyes. It stuck out of the hair tie at odd angles, making him look like an anime character while the unfamiliar weight of it gave him a headache. He _really_ needed to just cut it. He didn’t care what it looked like, but he needed to lob it off. Neither one of them knew any hair spells though and none of the books that Hermione had brought contained any such magic. Tomorrow he would bust out the kitchen scissors while they brewed and take care of this problem in one clean cut.

“I just – we got lucky the last few days popping in and out of Birmingham,” his expression was tight with worry as he looked at Hermione. “Well, maybe some of it had to do with us being better prepared and smarter with our movements – but still, _luck_ , was definitely a factor and I don’t want to rely on luck. I just can’t stand it that we’re once again going somewhere that we _know_ is dangerous.”

“I know Harry,” her voice was soft as she spoke. She set down the quill in her hands and walked out of the lab towards him, kneeling before him on the soft rug of tent floor and gripping his hands with her own. “I _know_ this sucks. But what else can we do? We need to make that antivenom. Nagini is going to be where _he_ is, and we _have_ to confront him eventually. I don’t see any other way around this.”

“Neither do I,” He sighed in frustration, dropping his forehead down to lean against hers.

He felt so trapped. He was terrified to go back to Birmingham after what happened with the last two werewolf encounters and based on the conversation they overheard outside of the apothecary – things were getting worse. He knew he was being moody and unreasonable. He was overtired, stressed and irritated with their situation simply for it being what it was. He knew that his feelings didn’t change what they had to do – they _would_ go to Birmingham to get the snakeweed tonight, and he would need to find a way to deal with the anxiety pumping through his veins. He knew that Hermione was nervous too, she’d been jittery for the last two weeks and training extra hard to try and distract herself. It was taking a visible toll on her. He knew that they both needed to calm down.

He let out a deep breath. Everything about this was infuriating, and all he could think about now was what if they weren’t prepared? What if they weren’t strong enough? What if everything they had done up until now wasn’t enough and they failed? What if something happened to Hermione? How would he cope with that after knowing what their relationship together could be – how would he live with that? He could feel his heart begin to race as the questions assaulted his already weakened mind and he gripped Hermione’s hands tighter.

“Will you promise me something?” He asked slowly, already knowing that what he was asking was impossible. It went against every fiber of her being, he didn’t even know why he was going down this road.

“Mmm,” Her eyes were closed as she continued to lean her forehead against his and rubbed small circles across the back of his hand with her thumb.

He wasn’t surprised that she didn’t automatically agree. Harry knew she wouldn’t, she was waiting to know what it was he wanted. She was too clever, too kind and too giving to agree blindly. From the way she was holding his hands Harry could tell that she knew he was anxious, she knew that he was feeling desperate and defeated. She likely even knew exactly where this conversation was headed and was fully prepared to reject his request – yet he continued walking down the path, needing to get the words out so he could relief some of the pressure off his chest.

“Promise me that you’ll keep yourself safe Hermione – if things go badly, whether it be tonight or the next night – keep yourself safe.” He pulled his head back to look her in the eyes, searching their warm depths and feeling a pain in his chest. “Apparate away if you need to – I’m not asking you to abandon the war I just –“

“You’re just asking me to abandon you, Harry, if something happens – you’re asking me to leave.” She was looking at him fiercely, her eyes glinting from the light of the tent as the dimness of evening settled in. “No, Harry. My answer is no, and it will _always_ be no.”

“Hermione,” Harry frowned. He knew that she wouldn’t agree, he knew that she would do what she always did – stick by him through thick and thin and fight until the end. It was like he couldn’t get across the emotion he was feeling with his words, he couldn’t wrap his own head around what he wanted. “I’m not asking you to just leave me – I’m saying _if_ something happens, if I can’t be saved – you need to save yourself, you’ll be the only one left who knows what to do to win the war.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know that Hermione, we have no idea how this will end – and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you.”

“Well now that just doesn’t make any sense at all – you were talking about if something happened to you and you _couldn’t_ be saved. Well if something happened to you, you’d be dead Harry – so you _wouldn’t_ be living with knowing something happened to me.” She was almost glaring at him now, Harry could see her own inner turmoil bubbling over. “Don’t you think I’d feel the same way – if something happened to you Harry and I _didn’t_ try to help you – I would never be able to live with that. I can live with knowing that I might die in this war, but I can’t live with knowing that I gave up on you. I’m not an idiot Harry, I’m not going to do anything stupid or reckless for no reason, but I’m never going to abandon you to save myself!”

“Hermione don’t get mad I –“

“I’m not getting mad!” her face was flushed, and she was gripping his hands like a vice.

“Well you’re getting upset.”

“Yes, I’m getting upset – I’m getting upset because you’re talking as if you think you’re going to die tonight. Harry that’s not going to happen – I’m not going to let that happen.”

“And that’s exactly what I’m afraid of!” Harry grabbed her wrists and pulled her up from sitting on her heels so she was stretching from her knees on the ground, their eyes met on the same level. “Don’t think I haven’t figured out what’s been going through your head – you’ve already decided that your role in this is to aid me no matter what the cost to yourself is.”

He’d noticed the change after the Sword of Gryffindor – the increased number of notes Hermione had been taking in her journal, how she had been writing out potions with step by step instructions, showing him how to use _everything_ in her purse, and teaching him how to use the magazine for communication with Mr. Weasley. He knew that she was helping him prepare for war like he had asked her to long ago, after she had been attacked by the werewolf and Harry swore to become greater. But he wasn’t stupid, he knew that she was also preparing him so that he would be able to continue alone if anything ever happened to her.

“Yes,” Hermione looked angry now as she spit out her admittance, eyes flashing as she refused to look away from him. “Because _this_ is bigger than me, Harry, you know that! This has always been bigger than us! This is about _so_ much more than trying to get out of this alive. See – _this_ right here, what you’re doing – this is _exactly_ why I was afraid of being in a relationship while in the middle of a war – wars have sacrifices Harry, and you can’t fight this properly if you’re constantly worried about losing me. Dumbledore knew that too! Do you really think he could have been defeated that night on the tower? I don’t know what was going on, or what his plans were but I _know_ he died on purpose.”

“Alright fine! Let’s call it like it is then – I’m being selfish! You’re right, I don’t want anything to happen to you in the war – I can’t lose you, and I’m sure as hell not going to let you sacrifice yourself for me!” Harry was practically yelling as he clutched Hermione’s wrists to his chest and she glared up at him. The tension that had been building in the tent for the last two weeks was reaching critical levels – Harry could not remember the last time he and Hermione had fought, though he wasn’t sure he would call this fighting. They were both just angrily yelling what they already knew to each other. They were so frustrated, so exhausted, so stressed, so plagued by their situation, so desperate to keep each other alive and unwilling to even consider losing each other a possibility – all while knowing it could very well happen.

“I am _not_ going to abandon you Harry – not _ever_ , I’m never going to step aside in this war.”

“Ugh – that’s not what I’m asking you to do, I’m not asking you to step aside!” Harry’s head was pounding, he couldn’t rationalize his thoughts and get his emotions into words.

He would never ask her to stand aside in the war or go into hiding so she wouldn’t get hurt. He trusted her skill and he knew that their only chance of winning the war was to work together until the end. He just could not shake the awful feeling that had been building in his chest at the thought of returning to Birmingham. He knew it was a buildup of anxiety from the trauma of their last encounters, it was the fear that haunted him every day – telling him that he still might not be enough to protect her. He couldn’t deal with the idea of losing her because she wouldn’t abandon him, but he didn’t want her to leave either.

“Then what do you want me to do Harry?!” she yelled, eyes wide and angry as she strained herself taller and leaned into his space.

“I don’t know!!”

Harry felt a wave of emotion snap within him, he all but lunged towards Hermione and crashed his lips against hers. Kissing her desperately as his hands dropped their hold on her wrists so they could wrap around her small frame. She grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him from the couch, pulling him down to the rug on the floor and opened her mouth to kiss him more deeply as he settled between her legs. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t stop, he felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest as he kissed her like it was the last thing he would do on Earth. He was desperate, terrified, weak and starved for her touch. It had been so long since they’d done anything physical – they’d been entirely focused on preparing for war and physically injured from their fall at the apothecary. His bruises had only just healed in the last few days.

Hermione gripped his shoulder tightly, her opposite hand going to his waist and pulling him against her as she pushed her hips up. He didn’t know what was going through her head – this was like nothing he had ever experienced before, like nothing they had ever done. Every movement was urgent and hungry. Hermione pulled at his shirt while he trailed hot open-mouthed kisses down her neck, grinding his hips into hers as she groaned into his ears. They were both overstrained, both terrified of what was to come and determined not to lose one another – even though they both knew they were playing the same game. Harry ripped his shirt off the remainder of the way as Hermione tugged hers up and over her head. He wanted to feel her, he needed to be as close to her as he physically could, to feel her warm skin against his a know that she was there.

“Harry,” she panted in his ear as her hands worked on his belt. Her voice was throaty with need. “Harry please – I _need_ you.”

Their motions were frenzied as Harry shucked off his pants and Hermione undid her own. Harry sat back and grabbed at the ankles of her pants to pull them down her legs before Hermione grabbed his neck again and pulled him back down, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. He groaned into her mouth, twisting his hand into her hair and grinding his hard length against her core as she keened. She was already wet, his body shivered as he slid against her slick folds easily. He wanted to push right into her, to feel the heat from her center surround him, but he gripped his hand on her waist tightly and stopped himself. He needed to slow down – they’d only done this once before and they were both acting crazed, he wasn’t even sure how to categorize the emotions that were rushing through him as he hovered above her.

“Harry,” Hermione caught his gaze, grabbing both sides his face to look at him intently. Her eyes were blazing, he could see the anguish that mirrored his own and he knew that she was dealing with the same desperate wave of emotions he was. “Harry, please.”

Both of them had been completing their own secret missions to ensure that the other would be fine. Harry teaching Hermione violent offensive spells and working tirelessly to improve their shield spell, taking any opportunity he could to throw himself between Hermione and danger like the fall out of the apothecary window. Hermione had been improving Harry’s medical skills, teaching him to brew potions and improving his dueling and wandless magic. Neither one of them was willing to let the other go, they refused to walk away and leave the other behind – but the crushing weight of the war was suffocating them, and it felt like they couldn’t escape.

He hesitated, it was unbearable. He wanted her so badly. He felt like he needed her physically, to reassure himself that she was there – that he wouldn’t lose her. But he was nervous he might hurt her with the craze they were in.

“Harry,” her voice was firm, and it pulled him from the rolling turmoil within his own head. She was still holding one side of his face but her other hand now gripped his hip tightly. She was staring at him passionately. “I’m not going to lose you – do you hear me? Not ever. We’re in this together – whatever it takes. We’ll train harder, we’ll become whatever we have to – do whatever we need to. I can’t lose you either.”

“I know,” his voice broke as he spoke, and he let Hermione guide him into her.

A low hiss escaped his lips as she thrust her hips up to meet his. He lowered his head, capturing her lips once more as he moved within her, meeting the tempo she set with the pressure she kept on his hips. It was faster than the first time, not reckless, but not gentle. She didn’t want him to be gentle. She was pushing upwards to meet each motion and kissing him back with matched desperation – because that’s what they were, two desperate people caving under the enormity of the weight on their shoulders while refusing to give up.

Hermione moaned into his mouth, her back arching as Harry slid a hand between them to rub her clit. He wasn’t going to last long, but it seemed that she wasn’t either. The boiling tension was too much as both of them ground into the each other. Hermione clung to his shoulders with each thrust, her head dropped down to his neck and her nails dug into his back.

“Hermione – I –“ his words stuttered from his mouth as his breath came in pants. He couldn’t finish his sentence, Hermione had wrapped her legs around him and was quivering beneath him and it sent his mind into overdrive. He couldn’t hold on any longer.

“Harry, I’m going to – I’m going to come, fuck Harry – don’t stop – I” Hermione shuddered and her head dropped back against the carpet. Harry felt her clench around him as her orgasm rippled through her and his while body tensed at the feeling. Her eyes were screwed shut and her expression looked pained for a second before every muscle in her body relaxed.

Harry felt his balls tighten, and he clamped his eyes shut as he came hard inside her. It was far more than he’d ever expected of himself in this scenario, he couldn’t believe that he’d held out as long as he did and he was shocked that she’d come while he was inside her. He collapsed on top of her, moving his lips along her jaw toward her temple and rocking his hip gently as she came down from her high. Her breath was coming in low rasps as she held him to her tightly.

“This won’t be a weakness Hermione,” Harry breathed across her cheek as he nuzzled his nose against hers and then repeated her words. “We’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes Harry,” she whispered, placing a kiss along his jaw. “We just make sure that it never happens.”

“It won’t,” Harry whispered back, brushing the loose hair from the side of her face, his eyes transfixed on hers.

He meant it. He would become whatever he needed to be. Do whatever he needed to do. He would not lose her.

Final nervous ramble, do you have a favourite chapter so far? [asking for a friend]


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Still with Hermione and Harry in this chapter :) Though please note things get darker, so read the warnings.  
> 2\. Thank you all for the wonderful messages last chapter. I want to apologize for sounding so vulnerable and insecure with my last post – the truth is, I was. I think everything in my life has just been getting to me and stressing me out. However, I am pleased to say that I am feeling far less troubled this week and will endeavor to keep my anxieties under control and not dump them on you guys :P Though really, thank you for being so understanding <3  
> 3\. As per the warnings this chapter has some dark content and sad shit (depending on how things affect you) so… read the warnings and please don’t read this chapter if these topics will upset you. I’ll post a mini summary at the start of the next chapter to capture main plot points that happened here so anyone who skips this doesn’t miss out.   
> 4\. Also I must inform you that Harry’s hair cut will be delayed – we weren’t able to find the scissors, perhaps they will turn up next chapter.  
> 5\. Also, also, I love you all <3 please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> \- Violence against women  
> \- Violence, blood and gore   
> \- Muggle mistreatment  
> \- Implied rape  
> \- Death/murder/mercy killing
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

***Please read the warnings above***

Hermione twisted her hands, working her thick curly hair into a braid down the back of her head and tried to ignore the sick feeling that was once again festering in the pit of her stomach. It felt like years ago that she and Harry were laying naked in each other’s arms on the rug on the living room floor after having the most passionate, rough and intense sex she’d ever had. _Well, the most intense sex I’ve had compared to the only other time I’ve had sex_, Hermione thought as she finished off the braid and tied the end with a hair tie, knowing full well that her tenacious curls would escape their braided confines and her mane would return in full force.

She wasn’t sure how to articulate the tsunami of emotions that had come over them in the tent hours before, and specifically, she wasn’t sure how to describe what had crashed through her as they _fucked_ on the living room floor. She had never put much thought into chronicling her sexual exploits or classifying the encounters differently before today, but now she realized that sex could happen in _many_ different ways. Their first time had been more tender, she equated it to gentle love making – innocent, cautious, and tame. It had been great, she loved the experience and she was grateful that Harry had been so gentle with her through her first time. Today though… well today was something entirely different. Today they fucked. It had been intense, aggressive, passionate, heated and urgent. Completely different than the first time yet everything that she needed in that moment.

She’d never been so bold with their sexual encounters previously, but today she could not stop herself. She had _needed_ him. She needed him closer, she needed him on her, she needed to feel his skin against hers, to feel him push inside her and consume her lips while she gasped for air. She’d tugged on his shirt, thrust herself against him and clawed at his back angrily, frustration at their situation feeding the anguish that raged through her. She had felt desperate, immensely turned on and overwhelmed with an urgency to have him. She was afraid, not of the heat between them or the roughness of their interaction, quite the opposite in fact. She was afraid of losing him, afraid that tonight may very well be their downfall. It was the same fear she knew was consuming Harry. He was upset, stressed, and tormented with worry about what they were about to go do. Their _argument_ , which could hardly even be called an argument, was the lit fuse to the fear and pressure that had been building around them. It exploded between them into a mess of hands and lips and skin moving against each other in a furious show of emotion that neither one of them could articulate with words.

They were terrified. Terrified that they were going to their deaths tonight, terrified that they would lose despite all their efforts and terrified that they would lose each other. It _was_ exactly what Hermione had been worried about when they first started their relationship and when they first acknowledged their feelings, that they would reach a point where they both fell so deep into their feelings that they wouldn’t be able to accept the thought of losing the other. It worried her. It worried her that Harry might do something stupid to keep her alive, or that she herself would not be able to let him go if it ever came down to it. But as their bodies collided, as she breathed him in and desperately wrapped herself around him, tasting him, feeling his skin against hers – she knew it wasn’t a worry anymore, it was a fact. She would never let anything happen to him, she would _never_ allow that to happen.

She meant what she said to him before he pushed inside her. She meant it with every fiber of her being as she thrust up into him and called out his name. She meant it when they laid there in each other’s arms on the floor after Harry came and she knew that Harry meant it too – but she didn’t _feel_ it resonate through her very core until afterwards, when they stood together in the shower surrounded by steam. They had laid quietly on the floor for almost an hour, Harry brushed his hand over her hair and down her back while she rested her cheek on his chest and traced circles across his skin. Neither one of them had spoken. They had let the silence surround them, the sound of the cold wind beating across the tent echoed in the quiet as she held him tightly and refused to let go, trying to extend their closeness and drag it out into infinity. It wasn’t until the heat between them had completely dissipated and Hermione had started to shiver that they finally pulled themselves apart and off the floor. Hand in hand, Hermione had allowed Harry to lead her to the bathroom, their feet padding softly against the cold wooden floors as Hermione felt a heaviness fill the air between them and settle across her heart.

It was the first time that they had ever taken a shower together, and while nothing else happened between them, it had rocked Hermione to her core. She’d never really _looked_ at him naked before or stood before him completely bare for any length of time. She found her eyes tracing over his skin, memorizing every mark, every scar and the way that his muscles flexed as he moved before her. She knew he was doing the same, memorizing her so he would never forget, so that they _knew_ the other by heart. There was no embarrassment though, the thick air between them was serious, sobering and powerful.

Somewhere deep within, she felt a part of her break as she looked up at Harry in the steam, her eyes scanning over his solemn expression and resolute eyes. She loved this man. She loved Harry more than she ever thought it was possible to care for another human being, she could not picture her life without him, he deserved to live, and the burden of her earlier words suddenly sunk deep within her chest. She felt the weight of it ache in her heart worse than when she had been split open by the werewolf as a wave of fierce conviction washed through her. She felt the tightness pull across her chest as Harry lowered his head and kissed her slowly, the water running down his back and splashing across her face as she gripped him tightly.

She would do _anything_ to keep him alive. _They_ would do anything to keep each other safe – whatever it took, whatever the cost, she would pay it. They _would_ win this war. Together they would fight until their last dying breaths and they would become whatever they needed to be in order to do it. She would do it not only because it was her only shot at ensuring Harry lived – but because it was their only prospect of winning the war. Months ago, Harry had taught her _Sectumsempra_ just in case, because he understood that _You know who_ and his followers would never play by the rules. They would never show mercy, there would be no humanity, no integrity… and they would win because of that. Because they were willing to sacrifice anything for their cause. She knew this, Harry knew this, they had _always_ known this.

After the Battle on the Hillside the final remains of her naivety had been shattered and she’d started to contemplate what she would be willing to sacrifice for the war. The coldness of their reality crept through her heart had begun to harden her from the inside out. Hermione knew that she was willing to sacrifice her own life if necessary, but she had still struggled with accepting that she may need to take a life – even after killing the snatcher on the hillside, she still struggled with her own integrity and where her personal boundaries would fall as they navigated the hostility of the war. But as she stood before Harry in the shower the doubt that lingered within her washed away, and she felt herself tremble under his lips as the hardness that had been slowly encircling her finally encased her heart.

She would sell her very soul to the dark arts if she had to, she would crush anything that stood in their way. When it came to _You Know Who_ and his devotees, she would abandon her morals, bury her decency and use whatever means necessary to succeed because it was the only way – this foolish childhood dream of defeating evil with righteous good and integrity would cost them the war and the lives of many innocent wizards and muggles. They would be destroyed if she continued to hold any doubts or hesitations. She was a tool in this war, and if she was willing to die then she should be willing to give anything else required. If she lived through this, she would accept and deal with the consequences of her actions when it was over.

She side glanced over to Harry who was pacing back and forth in the snow, his long hair still held in a disheveled pony tail that jutted out the back of his head while some of the shorter bits at the front framed his face. It was definitely a non-traditional look, it was maybe even a bit peculiar, but in a strange way it suited him. It matched the grit of their living conditions and the battle worn appearance he now carried with him. He looked nothing like the boy he used to be during their 6th year at Hogwarts or their easy summer at the Burrow. In fact, calling him the boy who lived felt a bit ridiculous now, he was definitely not a _boy_. Harry had long since become a _man_.

There was a hardness to his jaw in the way that he clenched it, there was a ferocity to the determination in his eyes that made his well-built frame look larger than it was and gave off an intimidating vibe. It was such a stark contrast to how he used to look that she silently wondered if people would recognize him without a double take – he looked like Harry in a different body. His broad shoulders, strong stance and intense expression made the air around him feel powerful. He looked exactly how Hermione felt on the inside, like someone who was ready to give anything, take anything and do anything to finish this war.

She checked her internal timer, there was only another 5 minutes left before they would be apparating out of the cold, desolate hillside and back into Birmingham. During their previous nerve-racking trips Hermione had located two naturally growing snakeweed sites along the Birmingham canal that were far enough away from the werewolf activity and disappearances that she felt somewhat _safe_ apparating to, to collect their ingredients. They didn’t want to spend more time there than necessary, just a simple in and out operation to collect what they needed and then return to the North. Though, she wanted to leave enough time to apparate to the second site in case the snakeweed was already harvested, dead, or god only knows what else could go wrong. So, they agreed to show up at 12:10am under a disillusionment spell so they could assess the snakeweed and get into position. This left enough time for them to apparate to the second site if necessary.

It was now 12:06am and they were both anxiously waiting until exactly 12:10am to make their apparition. They’d packed the tent up twenty minutes ago, cast several warming charms between themselves and lingered near the rock that was providing them with shelter from the brunt force of the wind and snow that was blowing off the ocean only a few meters away. Harry had her wand, he was going to take guard position while she harvested the snakeweed with a freshly sharpened silver potions blade. She would cut the stock at exactly 12:15am and store the snakeweed in the glass bottle that was hanging from a tie off her belt.

“Are you ready?” Hermione asked, her breath puffing out against the freezing air as she walked toward Harry. Only three minutes left.

“As ready as I’ll ever be – you have the knife?” Harry had finally stopped pacing and moved his way towards her.

“Yes, and the bottle – keep your hand on my neck while I harvest and if anything happens we bail to the second site–“

“And if the second site isn’t safe we leave, return here and come up with a new plan.” Harry finished reciting their plan with a nod. “My complete shield charm only lasts for seven minutes, yours for six – so we’ll cast them when we get there.”

“Right,” Hermione nodded as she reached out to take Harry’s hand, ignoring the bite of the cold against the fingers of her ungloved hand. “It is a Sunday night, most disappearances seemed to have happened on Fridays or Saturdays while people were out at the bar. Or, to homeless people – but there aren’t any around this area, so we might get lucky and be able to get in and out quickly.”

“I hope so,” Harry breathed as he gripped Hermione’s hand tightly and stepped toward her. “How much longer?”

“One minute.”

“I’ll cast the disillusionments.”

“Okay,” She felt the familiar feeling of an egg being cracked over her head as Harry cast the charm on her first them himself. The seconds of her timer began counting down and she felt her shoulders stiffen involuntarily. “Thirty seconds.”

This was it. They were about to return to Birmingham and get their final ingredient for the antivenom potion.

“Twenty.”

She just hoped that tonight would be uneventful.

“Ten.”

That tonight they would be lucky.

“Zero.”

-x-x-

A faint pop echoed out into the quiet night surrounding the Birmingham canal as Harry and Hermione appeared exactly where they intended to, right next to a thick growth of snakeweed on the water’s edge. They ducked immediately, Hermione casting a wordless silencing spell and a detection spell while Harry cast his own protective shield charm. They both still needed to cast the shield charm out loud and the last thing she wanted was to attract unwanted attention from making any noise. Nothing shower up from her detection so she remained crouched and still in the snakeweed while Harry finished his charm. Her eyes darted along the water, tracing up the path across the river before them that led up to an old part of town and then circling back around to look at the peaks of the houses behind them.

She quietly took her wand when Harry handed it to her and cast her own shield. They’d yet to try casting the charms on each other – it was too risky, the last thing wanted was for Harry or herself to be caught inside a death bubble for six or seven minutes while the other stood there helpless and unable to dispel the charm. Once her shield was fully formed, she returned her wand to Harry and set a mental timer. She knew Harry would have set his own and she felt his cold hand slip under her braid to grip the back of her neck firmly while she began sliding the silver potions blade from her pocket.

“Nothing on the detection?” Harry whispered quietly, his ear near hers in the crouched position.

“No, nothing – there are some small animals around, but nothing abnormal,” Hermione murmured in return. Regardless of the silencing charm, it felt risky to speak aloud so they always kept their voices down.

“How long?”

“Just over three minutes,” Hermione checked her mental timer and pulled the cap from the bottle on her hip. She needed to slice the stalks at exactly 12:15am and then jam them in the bottle before 12:16am. There would be no repeat, if they missed this opportunity not only would they need to return and endanger themselves once more – but it would delay the potion brewing by a week as the potion needed to start on a Monday.

Hermione strained her ears in the night, listening for any sound outside of the wind, the distance hum of the odd car driving through the night and the gentle sounds of the icy water. Her teeth were clenched tightly as every muscle in her body tensed, waiting for the inevitable crux that was coming to complicate their night and ruin their plans. But as each second ticked away in her head and her heart thrummed against her chest, nothing happened. At one minute remaining she reached forward and grabbed a firm hold on a large bundle of snakeweed, knowing it was more than four times what they needed but intending to do this only once. The stalks were perfect, the cold air would help keep them fresh and she never wanted to come back here again.

“Fifty seconds,” Hermione breathed, her fingers pulling the snakeweed taught as she placed the knife against the base of the stalk.

She licked her lips in concentration, her heart racing as she waited, her eyes focused on the stalks as an anxious tremble rolled through her body. They were going to make it, they were going to get the snakeweed, they would get away, she only needed forty-five more seconds –

Then her heart plummeted into her stomach as a blood curdling scream split across the night and a wave of nausea rolled through her at the sound. Harry’s grip tightened on her neck as his wand shot up. The sound had come from across the river towards the old mostly empty area of the city. They couldn’t see anything on the other bank of the canal, but they could hear the desperate sound of a woman’s voice cut through the cold air like a knife.

“PPPPPLLLEEAASSSSEEEEEE, NOOO –“

Hermione’s stomach rolled, her eyes darted to Harry, unable to see him under the disillusionment but knowing he was looking to the other bank and searching for threats. She tried to focus on the snakeweed in her hand, but her fingers had started to tremble as the screams from the woman rattled her to her core. There was only one reason anyone would ever make that sound – the woman was being attacked.

“Time?” Harry’s voice sounded next to her ear against the screams.

“STOPP – HEEEELLLPP-“

“Twenty Seconds – Harry, we have to-“

“Cut the weed then we leave.”

“Harry, we can’t leave her –“

“It could be a trap.”

“ _Or_ it could be a muggle woman being attacked – Harry, we can’t just – shit!” the timer went off in her head and she slashed the snakeweed, dropping the blade to the ground so she could use both hands to stuff the herb into the uncapped bottle. She could still feel Harry’s hand on her neck, but she noticed the slight tremor to it as the volume of the scream became muffled. She stuffed the snakeweed into the bottle as quickly as she could and recapped it, hoping to Merlin that Harry wouldn’t just apparate them away, trusting that she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t just abandon someone being attacked. “Harry just wait, wait until I get this packed we can’t leave –“

“Hermione we can’t stay, if we go chasing after screams in the night, we’ll end up killing ourselves.” But he remained crouched by her side, unable to make himself apparate them away even though Hermione had already stored the snakeweed and was carefully stuffing the bottle into her purse. She knew that he was torn – torn between doing the right thing, which was beyond risky, and doing the safest thing, which was what they had agreed to do before they arrived.

“Maybe – but Harry we can’t leave – I _know_ that sort of scream Harry, that woman is _begging_ for her life and we’re probably the only people within this city capable of saving her. She’s going to attract more people, more muggles – they’ll _die_ Harry. I’ll abandon my morality when it comes to defeating _You Know Who_ and his trash but I will _not_ leave innocent people to die! That makes us no better than them!”

“I know – I know! Fuck!” He groaned as he stood up and grabbed her hand. She could hear the frustration in Harry’s voice, she knew that he would never be able to walk away, it went against his nature but she understood his hesitation and frustration. “Alright let’s go, but don’t let go of my hand – not for a second!”

Hermione apparated them across the river, they landed on the bank with a small pop and scurried up the wet snow of the path she’d been looking at earlier as they made their way toward the muffled sobs coming from a few streets over. Hermione cast a muffling spell on their feet as they ran, not bothering to vanish their footprints from the slush as her mind panicked at the stupidity of their actions. _What are we doing, what are we doing – FUCK what are we doing?!_

Racing towards an attack in Birmingham had to be the most irresponsible and idiotic thing they had ever done – they were asking for trouble, asking to be attacked, asking to die. She knew it was irresponsible, she knew that in the greater picture living was the most important thing the two of them could do and yet the sound that had come from a stranger’s mouth had made her insides turn to lead. _This_ was what Voldemort’s war sounded like. This was what he and his followers were doing, these were the sounds that echoed throughout the night in Birmingham and other cities as the Death Eaters and werewolves attacked innocent, unarmed muggles and tortured them to death or left them maimed in the streets. This was the terror that they bred, the fear that they mongered and the way they would treat the world if they won. The few accounts that Mr. Weasley had shared with them had been upsetting – but hearing it was so much worse.

It had flicked a switch in her head, one of anger, one of rashness – her desperation to help was foolish and immature yet should could not stop herself. She’d meant what she said to Harry, she would abandon her morality and kill a Death Eater without batting an eye and she would give every piece of herself to win this war and keep him alive – but she would not leave the muggle alone to die. They had no fight in this war, this wasn’t their burden to bare. Otherwise, what was the point. What was the point of fighting against Voldemort in the war if they were willing to allow _small acts_ to happen again and again when they had the chance to stop them?

They skidded around the corner of a dark alley soundlessly, nothing but a shimmer in the night as their disillusionment shielded them from view. They stopped once only briefly to recast their shield charms before taking off again down the icy path into the black. Hermione’s heart was pounding in her chest, but her breath came in even puffs as she sprinted, her fit body working like a well-oiled machine, propelling her forward with as strength she’d never before possessed. She realized then that the terror gripping her heart was not for her or for Harry, that for the first time that night she was not concerned about their wellbeing – she was concerned for the woman who was calling out desperately into the night for help.

For the first time, Hermione wasn’t afraid that they would be injured. She wasn’t afraid that they would die. She was afraid of herself, afraid of what she might do when she reached the woman in need – of what she might do to whatever bigoted, vile, worthless trash thought it would be a good idea to attack an innocent muggle in the night.

-x-x-

Harry rounded the corner as fast and as silent as a snitch, his heart was pounding in his chest as adrenaline pumped through his veins and put his senses on high alert. His grip on Hermione’s wand matched the tightness with which he held her hand in his opposite hand, prepared to apparate away at a moment’s notice once they assessed the situation. He couldn’t believe what they were doing, yet he couldn’t fathom doing anything else. It wasn’t in his blood to stand by and let an innocent person be murdered or tortured, he couldn’t walk away if there was a chance of him helping – and he knew that Hermione understood that, that she felt the same.

He’d briefly tried to make his body leave, tried to do the _smart_ thing and apparate them away once Hermione stored the snakeweed, but something in the scream resonated deep within him and froze him on spot. It sounded so much like the screaming he heard when he closed his eyes, his mother’s screams that haunted his sleep and made him wakeup in a cold sweat. The scream he had heard countless times since he was eleven years old. He would never have been able to just walk away, something pulled at his gut and told him to follow, urged him to go toward the sound despite all reason – as if it was something he had to do. So as reckless as it was, as dangerous as it was, he was glad that they were running through the dark back streets of old Birmingham toward the attack. He was glad he was with Hermione and he knew this was the right thing to do.

As they rounded the next corner the sounds of voices ahead hit his ears as they closed the distance toward the shadowy figures that lay ahead.

“ _SIT._ ”

“Aw c’mon Oscar – what the fuck did you do that for, now we can’t take her back! The bites don’t work unless they’re done in the lab. We need to go – a bunch of muggles are bound to show up soon with the racket she made –”

“Who cares mate, that’s the whole fucking point – she does the work for us, draws them in so we don’t have to hunt them down. Besides, we’ve been working our asses off – I deserved some fun.”

Harry’s throat tightened as Hermione and him slowed, he could make out four figures on the dark path ahead from the faint moonlight glowing off the snow and a rickety looking street light that hung off the back of the large building to their left. One of the shadowy figures was very clearly a werewolf, crouched on the ground with its head bowed in a strange sitting position. The golden band on its wrist glinted in the light as its heavy breathing filled the alley and liquid dripped from its jaws. Two of the figures were men and both of them were standing. One was clutching his arm nervously, he was looking between the ground and the other man who appeared to be re-buckling his belt.

On the ground was the fourth figure, a slender body compared to those that surrounded it, but now silent and unmoving. Harry gritted his teeth as he felt Hermione’s fingernails slice into his skin, there was no doubt in his mind that she had drawn the same conclusion he had and felt the same burning rage. They both moved forward, approaching the figures before them quickly, hidden from view by their disillusionment and the darkness of the night.

Waves of murderous intent rolled off Hermione as the scene before them came into view and Harry’s anger flared to solar levels – nothing about this was okay, nothing about this would _ever_ be okay and these two men would _never_ see the light of day again.

“Yeah but I don’t think that Arlo meant for us to – “

“Arlo don’t give a fuck what we do with them, he just wants us to bring them in and this way we’ll collect more,” The second taller man said as he finished with his belt and straightened his pants. “They don’t last much longer than a month or two anyways, like this beast here, she’ll probably be dead in a fucking week and I’ll have to get another – wait did you hear – “

The man who had been speaking choked on his words, blood spat from his mouth as a giant gash split across his chest, cutting him open from hip to collarbone, and dumped his innards to the ground. He gasped for breath, his hand outstretched as he looked desperately to his partner before falling to his knees and crumpling to the ground. Blood poured from his mouth as he gasped for air and sputtered his dying breath. Harry had felt the rage radiate from Hermione as she flawlessly cast her spell without a sound, without a wand – it hit him like a punch as an aura of death encased the alley. A chill shuddered down his spine as Hermione flickered into view beside him as her disillusionment wore off, her hair had half worked itself out from the braid she’d had moments ago and it blew around her face in the freezing air as she stood like an agent of the afterlife, ready to collect the souls of those before her.

Harry moved quickly, he cast the second _sectumsempra_ of the night wordlessly, slicing his wand across the air and beheading the werewolf that remained crouched by the body on the ground. It had looked up toward them the second that they got within 30 feet, but it had not moved or made any indication of giving away their position. Harry made note of it, it sounded like the werewolf had been instructed to _sit_ – perhaps the commands that could be directed through the golden bracelets were limited or specific. Otherwise the werewolf would have attacked them long before. Now, its head slid clean from its shoulders, thumping loudly to the ground as its body fell backwards into the snow. Deep crimson red poured from its throat and soaked the ground, creating a small puddle that flowed toward the body of the woman that lay on the ground.

“Oh fuck! Oh my – what the!?” The second man’s hand went to his head as shock overtook him. Blood from his partner had spattered across his chest and face. His mouth was open in confusion as he looked at the desecrated body of his partner. He scrambled for his wand, his eyes darting up just in time to see them.

Hermione ran toward him, dragging Harry behind her but refusing to let go of his hand as they’d promised. She moved like a manticore about to destroy its next target – but she stopped short of killing him and instead cast a silent _petrificus_ _totalus._ The man’s features turned motionless just as she punched him dead in the face with her right hand. A sickening crunch echoed through the alley as his nose shattered, blood poured from his face as he fell backward stiff as a board onto the dirty ground. He landed with a thud, his head saved from splitting like a melon by the soft snow that surrounded them. Hermione stood over the immobilized man’s body panting, her grip on Harry’s hand tense as her eyes darted around, looking for any other threats and surveying the bloodbath they had created.

Harry cast two wards around them, ensuring that no one would be able to enter the alley without them knowing about it. Hermione laid down a silencing spell as Harry then cast a detection charm, ensuring that no others were near as Hermione’s head turned to face the woman who was laying on the filthy ground.

“Oh my god - she’s still alive! Harry – tether him to the ground so he can’t go anywhere.” Hermione finally dropped his hand, he let it slide away from his grasp as he moved toward the frozen man on the ground. He knew that they were completely alone in the alley now and Hermione was going to need both hands to try and save the injured girl before them.

“On it,” Harry used the tethering spell that Hermione had taught him while training with the shield charm to fasten the man to the ground. He ripped the wand from his stiff hand, not taking the time to be gentle and ignoring the crack that his fingers made as they broke. He stuffed the new wand in his pocket before he cast a second _petrificus_ _totalus_ and set an internal timer. “He won’t be going anywhere, we have at least half an hour before he can move but I sincerely doubt we’ll have that long before the cops show up – how is she?”

Harry turned to kneel beside Hermione, paying no mind to the blood that seeped into his pants and instead bit his tongue at the sight before him. The girl was mangled. A fresh bite on her shoulder oozed blood, her clothes were ripped and torn, her fingers bloodied from her attempts to fight back and her pants half removed.

“Fuck,” the word escaped him as a whisper, bile had started formed at the back of his throat. He wished the man Hermione practically chopped in half was still alive so he could rip him to pieces with his bare hands. The girl was maybe in her twenties and looked like she was on her way home from work based on the clothing she had on. She was breathing faintly, her eyes were hooded and glossed over but she seemed to be somewhat aware and was looking up toward them with anguished curiosity.

 _I wonder if she saw us cut them down_ , he thought as he leaned in next to Hermione.

“Yeah – not good,” Hermione’s voice was tight, and she was fishing vials out of her purse. She handed him one he recognized, one he had helped to created – premixed Essence of Dittany with silver, a ready to go werewolf bite cure. “I’m going to clean the wound, pass me the mixture when I ask for it, then I’m going to fix her clothes – you’ll need to hold her in place though.”

Harry nodded, no other words were needed. He’d seen first-hand when Hermione was injured just how bad it hurt to have a werewolf wound treated. He shifted around the girl’s body to let Hermione closer to the wound and cast a small warming charm on the girl to keep her from freezing.

“Hey, hi – it’s okay, you’re okay now – we’re going to help you okay, this is going to hurt a little bit but I need you to stay still,” Hermione kept her voice calm and light as she spoke to the girl, glancing to Harry quickly before she dumped the wound cleaning potion across her neck and shoulder.

A strangled cry sounded from the girl, her eyes shot wide with panic and her hand jutted out, grabbing Harry’s arm as she wailed in pain and tears poured from her eyes. Harry tried to hold her frame still as she writhed in pain from the potion. The bite had gone into her neck, the sounds she was making were slightly distorted and he wondered if there may have been minor damage to her vocal chords. Her eyes latched to Harry’s, they were blue, light blue like a clear morning’s sky, and they were filled with agonizing pain. Harry felt a sharp stab of pain through his heart as he took her hand, gripping it tightly.

“It’s okay – it’s okay, just look at me, you’re okay – we’re going to help you, I promise,” the words poured from his mouth even though he knew he might be lying. He had no idea if they would be able to help this girl, if she would be okay or what sort of life she would live if she somehow managed to survive. Though right now it didn’t matter, he would not let her suffer alone, and they would not let her die without first trying to save her. He handed Hermione the mixed potion when her hand outstretched for it but he never took his eyes away from the girl. “You’re okay, it’s okay, we won’t hurt you I promise – we’re going to heal you – just focus on me, I know it hurts, just focus on me.”

The girl’s eyes were still wide, her grip on his hand rivaled that of Hermione’s strength but her gaze had become clearer, she appeared fully lucid and she flicked her eyes between them as Hermione worked on her shoulder. She clenched her jaw tight with a sharp hiss of air, ragged deep breaths pulling through her nose as Hermione placed the final touches of the mixture across her skin. He could see a million questions racing through her mind, but she was unable to get them out as she clenched her jaw in pain.

“My name’s Harry,” he wasn’t sure why he said it, he didn’t know if it helped or made it worse for her to have a name to put to his face, but it caught her attention away from Hermione who was fussing around her wound. “Are you able to tell me your name?”

The girls jaw tightened one more before she opened it, taking a battered breath before she tried to make a coherent sound.

“R-Ro-“ her voice cut out and a small whimper left her lips at the pain of trying to speak, but it didn’t stop her. She closed her eyes tight and forced out mangled sound. “R- Rossse”

“Rose?” Harry felt a tight squeeze on his hand as her eyes shot back open. She smiled at him, wincing at the pain in her throat as she hummed out a low yes. “Rose, you’re okay Rose, it’s going to be okay – we’re going to fix you up.”

Her eyes darted down to Hermione who had shuffled down along her side towards her waist and her grip on Harry’s hand tightened.

“Rose,” Hermione said gently, looking up to the eyes that viewed her warily. It was more than obvious that the girl did not want anyone going near her lower half and Hermione was careful not to touch her as she spoke calmly. “Can I put your clothes back on? It’s cold out here, and I thought it might make you more comfortable – but I can just cover you with a blanket if you’d prefer. I know it hurts to talk so let’s just say _yes_ for clothes and _no_ for blanket.”

The girl’s brow creased as she drew a jagged breath and gritted through her word, “B – Bo – Both.”

“Okay we’ll do both,” Hermione smiled softly and glanced over toward Harry. “Harry can you fetch a blanket from the purse while I do this – then we’ll cast another warming charm so she’d not cold as ice.”

Harry grabbed Hermione’s purse with one hand, summoning the blanket wordlessly and placing it across her stomach for Hermione to lay out. He was cautious not to look anywhere but at Rose’s face while Hermione shuffled the pants up her legs and over her hips and avoided touching her anywhere except for the hand he was holding. Rose had been manhandled enough for the evenings and he didn’t want to give her any reason to think they were a threat.

“How about some warmth,” he said, hoping to ease her stress a little more and not giving a flying fuck about the laws of using magic in front of muggles. He drew Hermione’s wand and cast a warming spell as Hermione started to lay the blanket out on top of Rose. He instantly saw a look of relief flood the girl’s face and the warmth surrounded her. Despite the slight panic that remained in her eyes she was handling the situation surprisingly well.

Harry glanced down at her neck and shoulder as Hermione tucked the blanket against her side. His heart dropped and he bit his lip at what he saw. Her wounds weren’t closing – at least not the way that Hermione’s had. He wasn’t expecting to see smooth healed skin, he knew that there would be mangled scarring and as there was with all dark magic injuries – but he had at least expected to see the wounds close by now. Instead blood continued to drip from the deep unhealed puncture wounds in her shoulder, and only a small portion of the skin around her throat had stitched back together – but it looked red and heated.

“Hermione,” he said nervously, a ball of sickness growing in his stomach as he watched the blood continue to pour. “Why aren’t they closing?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione had returned her attention to the wounds, she was leaned over and peering down at them. The expression across her face made his heart start to race. “They should have closed by now, but they’re not – I’ve already doused it twice. She’s losing too much blood – let me get a replenisher.”

Harry watched as Hermione reached into her bag, quickly summoning a blood replenishing potion and bringing it to the girl’s lips.

“Rose, I need to you to trust me – I need you to take two big gulps of this okay,” Hermione’s voice was still quiet, but Harry could hear the undertone of anger and panic as Rose opened her mouth and willingly choked down two large gulps of the potion. It was at that moment that Harry was sure Rose must have seen them appear, she must have seen Hermione take out two of her attackers for her to be this trusting. Hermione recapped the bottle and dropped it back into her open purse, then pulled out a small muggle medical kit. “I’m going to try stitching this closed – I don’t know what else to do Harry.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded and brought his eyes back to the girl who was looking at him gravely, the earlier panic had faded and instead something else had settled in. “This might sting a bit – Hermione’s going to stitch your wounds closed.”

Rose didn’t even flinch as Hermione threaded the needle through her skin, pulling the gaping hole in her shoulder closed with each stitch, staining her hands with blood as she tied a quick knot and cut the string. She poured more dittany over the wound muttering urgently under her breath before she grabbed her wand from Harry and cast a diagnostic spell then pocketed her wand. The small three-dimensional image floated above Rose and Harry scanned his eyes over it.

 _Nothing_ , he thought as his eyes fell to Hermione’s face again.

“I don’t see anything,” her voice was desperate as she spoke and Harry could see her eyes start to shimmer as she looked at the medical diagnostic again and again – hoping to find something wrong. Looking to discover the underlying problem so they could fix it. “Harry there’s nothing, there’s nothing else – it just won’t close – fuck!”

The wound she had stitched shut split open, tearing the skin as fresh blood poured from the opening. The slightly healed skin on her neck was bright read and had started to crack.

“Hermione – it’s coming undone,” Harry breathed as his eyes widened at the crack skin on her neck.

“Harry I – I can’t stop this – there’s nothing I can do,” Her eyes were glassy as she looked at him, he saw her swallow hard as she took a shaky breath. “I’ve read about this, remember we talked about it before – most muggles don’t survive werewolf attacks, they – they can’t heal from it – the wounds don’t close.”

“There has to be something that we can do!”

Rose shuddered beneath them as the cracked wounds on her neck reopened and more blood poured out.

“Fuck! Come on – we can do this Rose – we can do this!” Hermione summoned the mixture from her open purse again and poured the remaining contents of the bottle on her neck, pulling the blanket up and pushing it against the open wounds to stop the blood as it continued to pour. A sob wracked from Hermione as she held the blanket tight. “Harry’s it’s – it’s not working I – I can’t do anything else.”

Despair ravaged Harry’s body as he looked between the two girls. Rose was gritting her teeth in pain and staring up at Hermione as Hermione fought back tears and continued to fight to keep the wounds on her neck and shoulder closed. Harry’s hand was gripped tightly by Rose as he grabbed the blood replenishing bottle, brought it to her lips and managed to get her to drink another gulp. Dropping the now empty bottle back into the open purse on the ground he groaned and ran his bloodied hand through his hair to push it from his face. Things were falling apart before them and there was nothing they could do – not even magic seemed to be able to save this girl.

“Maybe we can stitch it closed one more time – “

A tight squeeze on his hand pulled his attention back down to Rose, she was looking at him calmly, silent tears had started to pour from her eyes as her ragged breaths puffed out into the night.

“Harry – there’s hardly any skin there to stitch, it’ll just split open,” sadness rang through Hermione’s voice as she answered him quietly.

“Rose I’m sorry,” Harry whispered as he continued to hold her hand and Hermione held the blanket firm against her skin. “I – I said you’d be okay but I – We can’t – we can’t get the wounds to close. I’m so sorry Rose – I’m so sorry.”

Rose blinked at him, swallowing slowly as she continued to squeeze his hand.

“What happens Hermione? What do we do –“ the sound of a police siren cut through the air and both of their heads shot up.

It was close enough for them to know that they were in trouble, the muggle police would be there shortly and they would either need to leave or be caught at the scene of the crime. They both knew that the only reason why no one had stumbled upon them yet was because of the warnings that the Birmingham police had been issuing to the public. No one went out at night alone, in fact hardly anyone went out at all – and no one was stupid enough to run toward a scream they heard in the middle of the night. Someone had heard the commotion though, and while unwilling to go investigate it on their own they had called the police.

“Fuck,” Harry cursed as he looked around them and his eyes darted back to the man pinned to the ground and covered in blood. Everything they had been doing with Rose had moved at lightening speed, they still had ample time on the clock until the asshole was unpetrified, but he doubted they had much more than a few minutes before the police showed up. “We need to leave, but we can’t leave that asshole here, we have to question him so we can fucking stop this.”

“We take him with us – but we can’t leave her here like this either Harry – I’ve done the reading, I’ve spoken to the healers at St. Mungo’s – I know what will happen,” Hermione shook her head in frustration as an aggravated sigh escaped her lungs. “They’ll try to stitch her up, but the stitches will just keep ripping out – they’ll give her blood and delay her death, but she won’t live. Her heart will give out from the trauma and the illness – her body can’t handle the lycanthropy. She’ll die slowly in the hospital over the course of hours or days while they try to _help_ her. The only thing that can cure a werewolf bite is magic Harry, and we’ve tried that.”

“Okay well what did the healers say to do?” Harry asked as he glanced between the two girls again wracking his brain and trying to work through the problem logically.

“They said to bring them to St. Mungo’s for attempted treatment.”

“That’s out of the question, St. Mungo’s is being watched – she’d be slaughtered if we brought her there.”

“I know.”

“Well what would they do as attempted treatment?”

“Everything that I just did.”

Harry’s eyes jerked back to Hermione’s at the sound of her voice. It was quiet and sad, resolved and defeated. A look of hopelessness poured from the depths of her warm brown eyes as she bit her lip and a single tear fell down her cheek. Her hands were bloodied and trembling with cold, but she continued to hold the blanket firmly against Rose’s neck. He shook his head, he knew she was right, but his brain wouldn’t accept it.

“What if we take her with us and use more dittany?”

“You know I would Harry – you _know_ I would, but the dittany isn’t working. If she was going to heal it would have happened already, the wounds would have closed – dittany isn’t a finicky substance that only works on occasion. Her body is rejecting it, that’s why the skin is inflamed around her neck. Muggles _can_ become werewolves, Harry – but it depends entirely on their ability to heal from the wounds. Most die.”

“Try one more bottle – unmixed, we’ll do it like how we healed you.” Harry clenched his jaw as he squeezed Rose’s hand. He wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

“Okay,” She nodded, sniffing from the cold and gesturing her head to the blankets. “You’ll need to hold the blanket.”

Harry used his free hand to hold the blanket in place and listened to the sirens grow louder as Hermione pulled two fresh bottles from her bag.

“Here hold this.”

Harry took the silver powder and watched Hermione pull back the blanket. The wound now looked exactly the same as it had when they first arrived, it was like they’d done absolutely nothing to try and help it and the skin on her neck was red and inflamed.

“This will sting again,” Harry said softly to Rose as Hermione uncorked the bottle and dumped the dittany over her wound. The girl hissed and wriggled under his grasp as green smoke billowed from her neck and shoulder. Harry bit the cork on the bottle of silver he was holding and popped it open, leaning over Rose to dump the powder onto her wound the exact same way he had for Hermione. “Okay, now pour it on again.”

“Right,” Hermione nodded, her eyes focused as she followed Harry’s instructions, reenacting the same technique he had used on her.

They both held their breath as they watched the skin around the punctures, urging it to close and knit itself back together the way it was supposed to. But nothing happened. The skin around her wound just grew redder and more angry while Rose whimpered again and squeezed Harry’s hand. The sirens were wailing now, and Harry could almost make out the red and blue lights reflecting in the sky as the police closed in on their location.

“Shit!” Hermione capped the bottle and dropped it back in her purse in frustration, pulling the blanket back up to press against the skin and stop the bleeding. She pressed harder against her neck, holding the wound closed so that Rose could breathe more easily. When she spoke again Harry heard her voice break. “Harry, I don’t know what to do – she’s going to die Harry.”

Harry stared in disbelief at the alley around him, his legs were freezing in the cold puddle of blood that surrounded Rose and he could hardly feel his fingers or nose as the subzero temperatures plunged lower with each second that passed by. The sirens echoed in his heard as a dark realization dawned on him – there was nothing that they could do, and it had nothing to do with their abilities. They’d planned and trained and collected resources and tools and done everything in their power to ensure that they were prepared and capable. They had done nothing to prepare for the fact that sometimes life didn’t work that way, that sometimes, despite your best efforts and skills, things were out of your control. His eyes fell back to Hermione who was looking at him in desperation, she was looking to him for another idea, for anything other than what they both knew to be true. There was nothing they could do.

“Pl- ee,” Rose rasped as she tugged Harry’s hand and snapped him from his paralyzed state. His eyes flashed down to meet hers and his heart caught in his throat when he looked at her. Her eyes were sad, her lower lip trembled but a determination was settled across her face. With the tight pressure Hermione had on her neck she was able to speak a little better. “K- Kill-“

“What?” Harry whispered, refusing to believe that she had just spoken the word her heard as panic built in his chest.

“Ki- Kill” Rose choked on her word again but clenched his hand tightly as she fixed him with a fierce stare. She forced her mouth open and drew a shaky breath. “K- Kill – me.”

Harry’s blood ran cold, the sounds around him started to distort as the words that Rose rasped again felt like a dagger through his heart. She wanted them to kill her. She wanted to die. His hand shook in hers as his eyes widened. Killing a Death Eater, killing a werewolf, killing _You Know Who’s_ followers was one thing, but killing an innocent muggle was completely different.

“What?” Hermione breathed, her head turning to look at Rose’s face.

Rose glared at them and tugged Harry’s hand to her chest, her eyes darted to Hermione’s before she forced herself to speak again. “Pl-Pleeeasee – K – Kill – Me.”

She looked furiously at them as she struggled to swallow, her eyes darting between them as her chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. Daring them to ask _what_ one more time as she stared them down through narrowed eyes.

“Rose – I,” Hermione’s voice was disbelieving, she was as shook as Harry was.

The spells they practiced to kill or injure the enemy were not quick, they were not painless. Harry wasn’t about to cut her head off, light her on fire or make an explosion. He couldn’t kill her peacefully, nothing he could do would be better than bleeding out in a warm hospital bed.

“Pl- Pleeeeasee,” the urgency in her voice was evident as the sirens rang closer and they could hear the vehicles arriving a street over. Rose’s eyes darted from his own back to Hermione’s, then she reached her other hand up to grab at Hermione’s jacket and pull her down – their faces mere inches apart as she forced the next words out of her mouth. “Goin – t – die – an-way. Pl – ple – se. M- Make it st-stop.”

Harry’s grip on Rose’s hand slackened when he heard Hermione take a deep breath as she leaned back from Rose, she was stone faced and still. A silent steam of steady tears was pouring from her eyes, but she looked completely disconnected from her body. His heart stammered in his chest as he realized what she was going to do.

“Hermione we can’t.”

“She’s going to die Harry.”

“Yes – I know – I know, but what can we do, you can’t just chop her head off, that’s hardly a more compassionate death than bleeding out at the hospital.”

“I’m not going to chop her head off Harry,” her voice was quiet and calm.

He watched as she pushed a stray lock of dark hair off Rose’s face before she removed her hand from the blanket at her neck. Rose smiled at her and dropped her hold on Hermione’s jacket, her arm falling with a thud to her side.

“Hermione no,” Harry’s heart began racing as understanding dawned on him. Hermione stood from the ground slowly and pulled her wand from her jacket pocket. “No don’t – you’ll split your soul Hermione stop! No!”

“Harry, you don’t seriously believe that do you?” Hermione looked at him as more tears fell silently down her face, her loose hair blowing around her once more as the sound of voices cut through the air and the bark of a dog echoed in the night. They were sheltered by the large building to their left and Harry knew that the police would be forced to navigate the narrow street all the way down to the intersection behind them. “That a soul would be damaged from granting someone some peace, so they don’t die a slow and painful death? How is this any different from cutting someone open and disemboweling them? How is this any different from that death?”

Harry stilled, the barking dog was growing closer, and the urgent need to leave was growing. He knew that Hermione was right – they’d just slaughtered two men using dark magic and they didn’t even give it a second thought. The idea that only three curses in the world were unforgivable was absurd – the two of them were lethal with a _diffindo_ , and _bombarda_ had been responsible for the deaths of many people over the course of history. The only reason why this spell was deemed to be horrific above the others was because its _only_ purpose was to kill, and it had therefore been used favorably by dark wizards. The intent had to be pure, the result was instantaneous, and there was no _cure_ or _counter spell_ that could undo the damage.

It was an _unforgivable_ spell – but Harry had long since thought that the name was a bit misleading, or that it at least had two meanings. It could be unforgivable in the sense that it was an unjustifiable and reprehensible spell to use – the way that people understood it to be, the way that it was taught in school. But perhaps it was unforgivable because you literally could not take it back, because there was no opportunity for forgiveness or honour if you misused the spell and that the user needed to be sure before he cast it. His hesitation was entirely based on his desperation to not give up. He didn’t want to kill Rose because then it meant that the fight was over – that they’d lost and that snake faced bastard had claimed yet another life in a war based on hate. He wanted to belief that they could still save her.

He glanced quickly down to the wounds on Rose’s shoulders, they looked fresh and angry. Her skin was red and shredded as blood continued to drain from the holes the banded werewolf had made. They’d used an entire bottle of dittany and nothing had changed, they could use their entire medical supply, and nothing would change. The girl was going to die and he knew it, and she was asking them for mercy – she was asking them to spare her from the suffering. Using _Avada_ _Kedavra_ was the only way to grant a quick death, and realistically it was no worse than anything they had done so far. He glanced back to meet Rose’s desperate eyes and felt a heaviness in his heart at the pleading look she gave him.

“I’ll do it,” He said quietly, watching as relief flooded Rose’s face and she pulled in a choked breath. If they were going to do it, he would rather do it, if he could spare Hermione the agony that would certainly hit later on, he would – though he knew she would refuse. In the very least, he could show his full support by offering to cast the spell.

“No Harry,” she said softly as she looked down at the wand in her hand. “It’s my wand – I’ll do it. You need to stun the guy who’s still alive and detach him from the ground. We’ll bring him with us and question him.”

Harry sighed and closed his eyes against the red and blue that was now flashing in the air. He wanted to argue, he wanted to pry the wand from her fingers so she wouldn’t have to do it, but the logical side of his brain stopped his movements and squashed out the unreasonable ego that chattered within. _My how far I’ve come_ , he thought as he opened his eyes and looked to Hermione, _fifteen-year-old me would have pitched a fit_.

Seventeen-year-old Harry, on the other hand, understood that using dark magic was dangerous enough when you were using your own wand, but casting it while using someone else’s was something else entirely. He’d be lucky so far with his use of Hermione’s wand, they seemed to get along okay and he was able to use it effectively even if the spells he cast were less powerful than usual. He’d managed to form a sort of understanding with her wand and was comfortable using it for most spells. He wasn’t confident that asking it to cast _the_ death spell for the first time was something that _he_ should do.

“Alright,” Harry breathed as he squeezed Rose’s hand one last time. “I’m sorry Rose.”

She nodded at him and let her hand slide from his to fall on the ground next to her body. Her eyes turned to Hermione once more as she took a slow deep breath and gave a look of appreciation. Harry stepped back from her body and quickly hit the man tethered to the ground with a stunning spell before he released the tether and dragged his body toward Hermione’s feet.

“You can close your eyes if you want Rose,” Hermione spoke softly as she raised her wand.

“T – Th – Thank y – you,” Rose grunted out, her face grimacing in pain as the words were forced from her torn throat. She closed her eyes, a small smile dusting over her lips again as she let the air out of her lungs in a sigh of relief.

“ _Avada_ _kedavra,”_ the words were clear but hushed. They came from Hermione in a whisper, spoken firmly but softly, like she was hushing Rose to sleep with a song.

A bright flash of green shot from the end of Hermione’s wand and hit Rose square in the chest, the movements of her labored breathing ceased immediately, and her body fell still. The small smile became rigid on her face in the freezing air as the dogs and shouts grew louder behind them. Hermione stood frozen above her, wand outstretched, unmoving as she stared at Rose’s dead form.

“Hermione, we need to go,” Harry said finally, biting down the urge he felt to vomit, or scream, or throw something nearby. Anger had started to pour through him again as he stared at the lifeless form of Rose in the bloodied alley. He grabbed the remaining bottles off the ground and tossed them into the open purse, closed it and stuffed it in his jacket. Then he turned back to the stunned man, grabbed the bare skin around his wrist and reached forward for Hermione’s hand.

“Wait,” she said, her voice sounding hollow as she finally moved, mechanically lowering her wand and then darting toward the dead werewolf.

Harry’s heart thumped in his chest as the first ward chimed in his head. The police were at the end of the alley, and in about twenty seconds they would be visible to the authorities that were racing down the alley. Hermione tapped the creature’s body and it’s head with her wand before pocketing it. _What the fuck_ , Harry thought as he watched her move before him. He was starting to worry that she may have snapped when she killed Rose – they didn’t have time to investigate the werewolves in the middle of a murder scene.

“Hermione now – They’ll be able to see us in a second and we need – “

“I know! But we’re taking these too,” Hermione lifted the corpse of the werewolf under her arm and grabbed the head by the scruff of it’s fur and ran quickly back over to him.

It should have been impossible, the weight of the werewolf should have far exceeded anything that she would be capable of lifting on her own, let alone tucking under her arm like a newspaper and running several steps. He smirked despite his anger, despite his sadness and frustration over the night and grabbed her hand tightly – apparating them away with a pop before the police crossed his final ward.

Hermione was a genius, even after the night they had been through she managed to collect another sample for her studies by using a quick feather light charm. Not to mention the fact that she just saved Mr. Weasley and the Ministry from a major wizarding exposure problem – removing a decapitated werewolf body so it wasn’t left out for the muggle police to find. The world warped around them and reappeared to a familiar cave by the sea. The salty cool air bit at his face as he landed, he heard Hermione drop the corpse to the ground with a thud before she started muttering the spells for their wards and detections. He turned to the stunned body of the man he had dropped on the ground when they landed, his jaw clenching tightly as he dragged the body into the cave and tethered it to the wall. They wouldn’t be returning to the safety of the North just yet… not until they had the answers they needed, and he would make sure that they got them.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. More H&H this chapter! Wanted to finish off this segment before moving the plot forward with them and some other characters.  
> 2\. Please accept my sincere apologies for being late with this chapter :( I told you guys that I would be keeping to the schedule through the holidays then I didn’t – had a change in family plans and spent my Sunday preparing my home and visiting instead of writing. Either way though, I didn’t follow through, so I am sorry :( I’ll do my best to get more chapters completed and uploaded on schedule/ASAP to make up for it :)  
> 4\. Happy holidays to everyone out there regardless of what you are celebrating! I hope that you all get a well-deserved break and spend some time with the people you love – remember to take a moment for yourself too, to recharge.  
> 5\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3 If you celebrate Christmas... Merry Christmas. I hope you had a great day!
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.
> 
> LAST CHAPTER SUMMARY (in case you didn’t read due to warnings)  
> \- H&H successfully harvested snakeweed, they came across a werewolf attack and defeated the werewolf and one man. They were unable to save the victim and cast a mercy killing spell to spare her suffering. They took the second man in for questioning.

_Mr. Weasley,_

_I hope this message finds you well and quickly. A muggle woman was attacked by a werewolf in Birmingham tonight, her body is on the South side of the canal in an alley behind what I believe to be the old Stedman Warehouse – muggle police will be present._

_You will be relieved to know that the werewolf corpse is no longer on site, but I believe that Ministry intervention (by trusted members) with muggle law enforcement is crucial as the remaining bodies are severely mangled and the scene is a mess._

_I apologize for the informality but given the situation urgency seemed more imperative. I expect to have more information shortly and will be in touch._

_Regards,_

_Hermione_

-x-x-

“Did you contact Mr. Weasley?”

“Yes,” Hermione said as she took a seat on a small rock in front of the unknown man who was currently tethered to the cave wall. Harry had strung him up while she had cast several wards around the cave to alert them if anyone got within 100 meters of the entrance. She had not bothered taking out the tent or casting their full set of extensive wards as they had no intentions of staying at their current location longer than necessary. Once they were done questioning the man, they would be apparating back to the safety of the North. “Already sent – I’m ready when you are.”

If Harry noticed the emptiness to her voice as she spoke, he didn’t show it, instead he simply nodded before turning back to the man tethered against the cave wall. He cast a quick _silencio_ to ensure that the man wouldn’t be able to scream out Voldemort’s name when he removed the stunning charm. The last thing they wanted was for Voldemort himself to show up – they needed this man, this was their only opportunity at gathering current information on the werewolf encounters and they were _going_ to get it. Hermione sat still, a fresh quill poised over a blank page in her notebook, ready to record even the smallest detail that their captive revealed.

Whatever information they got would then be passed along to Mr. Weasley and the remaining members of the Order. They had discussed the werewolf issue at length over the last few months and agreed that they would disclose information regarding the werewolf attacks to Mr. Weasley as they gathered the details and determined how the bonding process worked. They both knew that it would be impossible for them to train, locate and destroy Horcruxes, and work to defeat Voldemort while simultaneously resolving the ever-growing werewolf crisis. The war was simply too large for them to _win_ on their own, thinking they could be _heroes_ and defeat Voldemort and his forces alone was a childish notion that would cost innocent people their lives. So, even though they hated to request assistance or involve Mr. Weasley for fear of him getting injured, they knew they needed his help. They needed the Order to support them if they truly wanted to stop the abductions of innocent muggles and prevent the werewolf army from growing any larger than it already was. It had taken them a while to come to terms with the decision to involve Mr. Weasley further, but they understood that the situation required aid, so they had agreed to disclose the details to Mr. Weasley but keep their own involvement and any other information regarding their actions and true mission a secret.

Hermione took a muted breath and closed her eyes, using her practiced meditation skills to empty her mind from the events of the alley and the images that seemed to be burned into her brain. It was like the entire ordeal wanted to replay in graphic detail at the forefront of her vision over and over and over again. She clenched her jaw as she forced the images to the back of her mind, silently promising herself that she would properly deal with everything later – but that right now she _had_ to focus, she needed to pay attention and she needed her body and mind to cooperate right now. She felt a slight tremble in her right hand as a final image of Rose was stored away and the dark feeling she’d experienced while casting _avada kedavra_ cascaded down her arm once more. She gripped her quill more tightly to steady her hand and ignored the tremble, choosing to blame it on the cold as she let out her breath and opened her eyes. _Let’s get this done and over with_ , she thought as her eyes refocused on Harry.

Hermione watched Harry raise her wand, flicking it quickly as he removed the effects of the stunning charm. The man’s eyes shot wide and his mouth opened in pain as he tried to reach for his shattered nose but was unable to move his hands up from his sides. She watched quietly, her lips twitching slightly as the man struggled against the invisible chain that held him to the wall for several seconds until his darting eyes locked onto hers and he stilled. She could feel the air within the cave tighten around her as she clenched her free hand into a tight ball and held his eyes unblinkingly, watching them widen in fear as his chest started to move in quick bursts. He was terrified. Frozen on spot like a deer in headlights until the scuffing sound of Harry’s worn shoes against the cave floor caught his attention. His eyes pulled away from hers, locking to Harry’s as he moved closer and stood just to the right in front of Hermione. The man’s eyes widened further, a look of pure shock settling over his face as he took in Harry’s form.

A scoff almost passed her lips as she monitored his expressions. She wondered how they both compared to the images and stories of the _Golden Trio_ that Voldemort and his Death Eaters were promoting. Was Voldemort telling his followers that they were incompetent children that could be stopped by a mere _expelliarmus_? Did they believe that Harry was just _lucky_ and had no real skill? Did they think she was only good at books and logic and was still undeserving of her magic? Did they believe that they weren’t able to defend themselves? She’d seen the _undesirable_ posters that had been pasted around wizarding communities from their break-in at the Ministry – they looked nothing like those childhood images anymore.

Harry towered above the seated man, his clothes dirtied and worn, his breath puffing slowly and evenly from his mouth in small clouds of mist against the frigid air as the wind howled outside and tore across the entrance of the cave. The light from the small fire that Harry had conjured highlighted the blood stains that covered the front of his robes and soaked his jeans, the ones that ran through his disheveled long hair, that caked his hands and her own. They were both covered in it – in Rose’s blood, and it made them look wild and dangerous in the low flicker. The man’s frozen, wide eyed, frightened expression said everything.

 _No,_ Hermione thought as she watched a small shiver run through the man before her. _We don’t match any description you’ve been given – this isn’t what you prepared for. And you should be afraid._

“You’re not going anywhere,” Harry’s voice was low and controlled as he spoke, but Hermione could sense the air of tension around him. She knew that he wanted nothing more than to eviscerate the man before them but was restraining himself in order to get what they needed. “And you’re not saying anything – not until you understand how this is going to work.”

Harry crouched down before the man, elbows resting gently on his knees as he met him at eye level. His grip on her wand tightened and Hermione saw the man’s eyes dart to it quickly before returning to Harry’s face.

“My friend and I have some questions for you, about the werewolf activity – and we’re pretty confident that _you_ have the answers.” The man swallowed visibly, his throat bobbed as Harry paused before continuing. “So, I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them. If you don’t – you’ll die. I know you saw what we did in that alley – so you know I’m not lying. If you call _you know who_ here, we’ll be gone before he arrives and – you’ll die. I’m sure by now you’ve figured out that _he_ isn’t above killing his own, and he doesn’t take kindly to failures. Nod if you understand.”

The man nodded quickly, his eyes still wide as they darted over to Hermione’s with a mistaken look of pleading. If he thought he would receive a better offer from her, or if he thought she might be more compassionate and show mercy – he was wrong, dead wrong. He would receive no absolution from her, and she would destroy him just as quickly as Harry would. Seeing the hard look in her eyes his expression quickly tightened into one of despair and he brought his eyes back to Harry’s face, swallowing tightly and nodding again more slowly.

“Good. First question – where is the main werewolf den, is it in Birmingham?” Harry twitched his finger and removed the _silencio_ , the man’s rapid breathing quickly filled the room and he blinked between the two of them. His eyes dropped to the wand that remained unmoving in Harry’s hand, a confused expression crossed his face before he stiffened completely against the cave wall. He wasn’t expecting them to be capable of wandless and wordless magic and the realization that Harry had cast a spell wordlessly as easily as breathing seemed to remove any shred of doubt or resistance from his body. This man wasn’t a fanatic who would die for the cause, he was probably just some idiot who joined because it sounded promising – he was going to split at the seams and give them everything he had.

“Y-Yes,” The man’s voice came out broken, betraying him and allowing his fear to echo around the cave in the darkness. “I-It’s in Birmingham.”

“Where?” Harry’s tone was deep and to the point, his expression giving nothing away as Hermione’s hand began to move across the blank notebook page, transcribing everything the man said and how the questions were worded.

“Underground – in the sewers, there was an o-old abandoned building on the North side that has several basement levels. They d-dug it out – and connected it to the sewers. It’s how we get around mostly unseen.”

“What’s the address of the building?”

“I – I don’t know,” panic shot through the man’s eyes as he glanced between Hermione and Harry again, petrified that he did not have an answer to the question.

Evidently, he did not doubt that they would kill him if he didn’t give them what they wanted, but Hermione wasn’t surprised that he didn’t know. She suspected that the operation was layered, that information wasn’t freely passed out to everyone and that there may even be multiple dens. One for the werewolves to stay in, one for experimentation, one for holding muggles in waiting, etc… she watched him carefully as he bit his lip and scrunched his face, trying to recall as many details as he could.

“It’s near fish pond!” He shouted suddenly, relief flooding his face as he nodded vigorously. “Just off Netherhall Ave I think – I heard someone mention that, a while ago so it may be near there – we weren’t supposed to know. I’ve only ever gotten to it from the sewers, I-I don’t know anything else on its exact location, but I know it’s heavily warded.”

A warm tingle in Hermione’s pocket caught her attention, the coin for the magazine was burning – which meant that Mr. Weasley had replied. She shifted the notebook on her lap to see the magazine which laid open underneath, hidden from view of the man tethered to the wall, and she saw the scrawled coded words Mr. Weasley had sent. She checked the time internally, it was 1:07 am, how did Mr. Weasley know that she had messaged him?

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she let out a quiet sigh. He charmed the coin. He must have done exactly what she had done to her own copy of the coin – charmed it to alert him of when the coin was modified. They always changed the cypher right before sending a new message so she must have woken him up and he already had her message. Everyone always underestimated Mr. Weasley… but he truly was a brilliant man. She slid the notebook back down to cover the text and returned her eyes to the man tethered against the wall, he had begun to shiver, the frozen cold seeping through his damp clothes. She would decode the message once they were done questioning him and she had more information to share.

“You’re turning muggles into werewolves, correct?” Harry continued his questioning

“Y-Yes.”

“Who’s Arlo?” Hermione edged forward on her rock as Harry asked this question. It was the name they had heard in the alley before they intervened.

“He’s the one that’s doing it – he’s the one changing them.”

“How is he doing it – most muggles die from a werewolf bite.”

“I don’t know,” The man flinched as Harry’s hand twitched against her wand and a small whimper escaped him. “I swear I don’t! I don’t know! I’m not allowed in the lab – I don’t even know where the lab is! I just help bring them in and drop them off at the building. All I know is once they’re changed their bound.”

“How are they bound?” Harry asked, leaning in slightly and fixing the man with an even stare.

“I-I don’t know that either,” The man trembled again as fear gripped him once more. He was coming up short on a lot of the questions and starting to feel like his time was running out. “I just know they use a golden band – but you’re not conscious when they do it, no one knew how the process was completed. Just that the muggle you’re paired with stays in wolf form and answers to your commands.”

“So – you just help bring the muggles in.” Harry’s voice was flat as he spoke, but the caustic undertones were unmistakable.

“Y-Yes,” The man’s eyes shifted quickly to Hermione’s before he nodded and continued. “That’s all – I don’t know anything else, I worked in a pair with Oscar – we would just collect and drop them off, I wasn’t part of processing.”

“Oscar, your _friend_ , he had a werewolf with him – but you didn’t, and I don’t see a band on you.”

“I d-didn’t have one.”

“Why not?”

“The bond didn’t work well on me – I wasn’t able to get one.”

“Why?” Harry pressed, his head tilting to the side slightly as his eyes trailed over the man’s face.

“I don’t know. T-They don’t explain things to us – They tried to give me a band, but they said it didn’t work well with me, it wasn’t taking, so they removed it. That’s all they said! Then I was just recruited to help collect. Arlo is the one behind everything – and Eric is his only other helper. Everyone else is either a bonded pair or a collector.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“I’m not sure,” the man said nervously, biting his lower lip again and frowning at the dried blood he tasted. “I was recruited about six months ago – but Oscar was there for eight.”

“How many people are bonded pairs?”

“I’m not sure – maybe thirty? Maybe more? I don’t see hardly any of them, they keep it like that on purpose – they don’t want the collectors or the pairs to know the full details of the operation.”

Hermione noted that down and added a star on her page, he had just confirmed what she suspected. Clearly Arlo, whoever he was, was smart – he knew what he was doing. The operation was layered as she expected, Arlo and Eric functioned with more information than those working for them. This man was just a lackey, just a guy with a single purpose and job and he wouldn’t be able to give them any useful information on the bonding process, or even the details of how the organization was constructed. It was annoyingly clever, and exactly how she would have structured something top secret. Arlo had created a failsafe, ensuring that if anyone from his bottom tier was captured that they had little information to give. It was probably safe to assume that there were not a lot of people outside of Arlo, Eric and Voldemort that knew the details of the operation.

Though, it was clear from his responses so far that this man listened. He paid more attention to his surroundings and to what people said than the others as he knew roughly where the den was. She suspected that most other collectors and bonded pairs didn’t since they only entered it from underground. Though surely Arlo had also been hoping that if anyone was captured, they would remain loyal to the cause and die instead of giving out information – and that was his mistake, that was the crack in the plan and the problem when your army grew too large. Not _everyone_ was a fanatic. Different people have different motivations and this guy was just a low-level thug, likely recruited with the promise of reward or because he was too afraid to say no. While he wouldn’t be able to give them everything they needed, he wasn’t completely useless.

“How many people do you bring in?”

“Maybe three or four a month? It used to be more, around five plus a month – but the muggles started to notice so it was getting harder to find them alone – so everyone’s counts have dropped.”

“How many collectors are there?”

“I’m not sure, we don’t all know each other and not all collectors work with a bonded pair – but there has to be at least twenty actively collecting.”

Hermione’s quill stilled over her page as her eyes shot up to look at the man, her mind registered the sound of her quill cracking between her fingers, but she didn’t feel the splinters that dug through her skin. Her breath was caught tight across her chest as her hand continued to tighten. She knew that Harry had just done the math as well because the room grew instantly quiet and his body tensed.

“So – you’ve collected over six hundred muggles?” Harry’s face was dark as he spoke in a deathly tone. His jaw clenching as the man before them fell silent.

A slow sobering look passed over the man’s face as his brain registered the number Harry had stated. His eyes widened, he’d never even considered running the numbers in his own head before – never even thought about the quantity of people that they had taken back to the den. He opened his mouth and closed it, then opened it again only for no sound to come out. His lip began to tremble.

“You never even thought about it, did you?” Harry’s voice was so low Hermione could barely hear it, his eyes were livid while he remained motionless. “Why so many?”

“Because they don’t last long,” the words fell like a whisper from the man’s lips as his gaze was transfixed on Harry’s. Hermione could see a gloss form over his eyes as his lip continued to tremble. “I-I never – I never thought about it.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Harry exhaled a puff of mist between them, allowing the silence to fill the void as the wind raged more angrily outside. It was making a horrendous whine as it tore across the opening of the cave, the flicker of the fire moving chaotically across the rocky walls. Then the man began to realize that Harry hadn’t asked another question.

“I-I -I’m sorry,” his voice broke again, and his entire body began to shake as Harry rose to his feet. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice,” Harry said quietly as he reached his full height and looked down at the man sitting awkwardly on the ground. “You made the wrong one.”

“N-No p-please! Please don’t kill me! I didn’t have a choice, you have to understand – I’m a half blood! My mother, she’s a muggle, she’s ill – they promised to help her! Please I –“

His voice cut off as Harry flicked a finger, casting a second wordless _silencio_. Hermione could see terror settle across the man’s face as his mouth continued to move, begging for his life in silence, pulling against the tether that held him and glancing between them desperately. Her eyes tore away from his miserable form when Harry turned to face her.

“I don’t have any other questions, do you?” Harry asked, arching a brow at her in question as he let out a frustrated breath. He looked as strained as she was feeling, they both wanted this night to be over.

“No, I don’t think so,” Hermione cast a silent _muffiato_ so the man would not be able to hear their exchange and leaned over to her right so her mouth movements wouldn’t be seen. It made it much easier for her to ignore the man’s desperate attempts to get their attention and plead his case when she couldn’t see him from the corner of her eye. “It sounds like Arlo, and whoever else set this up covered their bases pretty well – using a layered structure for information, probably ranks of some sort. This man won’t be able to answer any of the finer questions I have on how the bonding is completed.”

“That’s what I figured too,” Harry sighed and closed his eyes in annoyance. She knew that he was starting to feel the same nagging exhaustion that had started to creep into her bones. The cold wasn’t helping the situation either. “So – what do we do with him – do we just wipe his memory and let him go, or do we kill him?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione bit her lip as she ran the scenarios in her head. “If we wipe his memory and let him go _you know who_ will find him and he’ll be killed regardless. If we kill him, well then, he’s just dead and we have to do something with the body – they’ll probably find him eventually given what happened in the alley and assume that information was gathered. We don’t want him turning up dead too quickly – or they may move locations or modify their plans before we can do anything with what we _do_ know.”

“That’s exactly what I was worried about,” Harry nodded as he opened his eyes again and looked at her worriedly. “We need time to get this information to Mr. Weasley – see if there is something that we can do about the known den, I think we are going to have to release him with his memories erased so it looks like he was a coward and just ran away from the scene.”

“Right,” Hermione nodded slowly. “Then they will kill him for being a traitor, but it buys us more time and lessens the chances of them making any changes. He wouldn’t be the first of the followers to run away in a fight – if we’re lucky Mr. Weasley can change the reports on the scene to make the whole thing look like a random accident, instead of it being a blatant attack.”

“We should give the werewolf corpse to Mr. Weasley,” Harry agreed, running his hand through his hair absently as he thought through their next steps. “Make it look like someone decent in the Ministry just _happened_ to get to the alley before the muggle police and took away the body. We can have them report that this guy apparated away – then it gives us time to do something about this, to disassemble their operation.”

“We’ll need to arrange a drop point,” Hermione said as she tapped the book in front of her.

“Did Mr. Weasley get back to you?”

“Yes – actually he’s quite brilliant. He must have charmed the coin to alert him of when I changed it because he responded extremely quickly after I sent the message. I haven’t decoded it or read it yet – figured it would be better to have some information to send him and I wanted to get this over with.”

“He’s far more clever than people give him credit for,” Harry muttered as a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t reach his tired eyes.

“I know,” Hermione breathed, her air misting thickly before her. “Harry – it’s possible that this man knows more than he thinks he does. I’m not skilled enough at legilimency to attempt it – if I screwed it up it could ruin his mind and we wouldn’t be able to release him as planned – but, well maybe he saw something. A skilled legilimens would be able to sift through his brain and see if any other information is useful.”

“Does the Order have anyone skilled in legilimens – now that Snape is gone?”

“I’m not sure,” Hermine said slowly, wracking her brain for any names of the Order members who may be able to help. “But we could ask. Either way we need to wipe his memory up to the point that we showed up in the alley – we don’t want anyone seeing what happened or knowing we were there.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, glancing down at her broken quill before catching her eye again. “Are you okay to do the charm? I can start decoding the journal.”

“Yeah, I can do it – here,” Hermione handed Harry her notebook and Journal along with the coin, standing up from the rock and biting back the stiff soreness from her legs as she stood. They needed to get into the warmth of their tent – warming charms just were not cutting it in the cave. She took her wand back from him and cast another warming charm even though it would do little to help against the bitter night air.

Walking around Harry she approached the guy who was tethered to the wall. He was crying silently now, tears rolling down his face as he watched her move to kneel in front of him. She had no idea what her expression looked like, if it matched the death she was feeling internally – but clearly it did nothing to ease the man’s despair as she saw a silent sob escape him and he closed his eyes tightly. She raised her wand to cast _obliviate_ , then paused when a thought struck her and instead removed the _muffiato_ so he could hear her.

“I have two questions for you,” her voice was colder than the air as she spoke and the man’s eyes flashed wide, meeting hers desperately, searching her face for hope as he waited for her to continue. “The same terms apply here – once I remove the silencing spell, if you do anything idiotic – I will kill you.”

The man nodded, eyes never leaving hers as he waited for her to remove the charm. She did so without even raising an eyebrow and his ragged breath filled the cave once more.

“We took a wand from you in the alley – what is it?”

“U-Unicorn hair,” his voice was rough and grated. She realized then that he had been silently screaming at them while they spoke and now, he grimaced as he forced the words out in pain. “Ten and a half inches, hazel wood.”

“What’s your name?”

“Evan,” he said slowly, blinking before he took a shuddered breath. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Not today,” Hermione said quietly, her jaw clenching as she mulled over what to say. He wouldn’t remember anything that had happened beyond the alley – the information simply wouldn’t exist, so it truly didn’t matter what she did now. Though she found herself feeling torn. She wanted to scream at him, punch him again, lecture him, berate him, hate him – but she knew it would be wasted time and effort. “You won’t remember anything that happened here, you’ll be released at some point to return to your _friends_.”

“N-No,” his eyes widened as her words registered in his brain. “They’ll kill me! They’ll kill me for leaving the alley – they’ll kill me for giving up information.”

Hermione was unable to stop her eyebrow from arching at him as he spoke, she found it odd that he seemed to think that might matter – that _she_ might care. She and Harry were perfectly well aware that he would be killed by Voldemort’s followers when they finally found him – but that wouldn’t impact their decision to let him go. She was briefly struck by the thought that perhaps she was becoming harder and colder than she realized.

“Yes,” she said slowly, letting out a cold breath of air. “I believe you’re right.”

“Y-You can’t do that – please, please! I know what I was doing was wrong, but I had no choice, I – “

“There aren’t a whole lot of options for you Evan,” Hermione cut him off as she raised her wand to his temple and continued to hold his terrified gaze. She wasn’t sure why she was engaging with him so much given that it was pointless, but the emotion she had bottled up earlier was starting to seep out and she couldn’t stop herself. “We can’t keep you here, you’re a threat to _our_ safety, no one can know what happened here, and if I’m being blunt – I don’t care what happens to you Evan, you made your bed and now you get to lay in it. Did you care about Rose?”

“W-Who’s Rose?”

“Exactly,” Hermione’s word cut through the cave and brought down a thick pressure in the cold air.

She could feel her pulse begin to quicken as her hand twitched on her wand. Her temper was rising, she was exhausted and the stress from the day was finally getting the better of her. It took all of her remaining will power not to hex the man before her or beat the ever-living crap out of him with her bare hands. She felt like her skin was cracking, burning under the anger that was starting to course through her body, threatening to break her control as her eyes narrowed at Evan and her face contorted into one of disgust.

“Rose is the woman you were trying to _collect_.” She practically snarled at the man before her, her eyes flashing as she poked the end of her wand into his temple. “Rose is the woman you let your friend rape, and his werewolf bite – a werewolf that used to be a muggle no less. Rose was a person, a human _fucking_ being that you killed simply because she was a muggle – because she wasn’t magical! You said you’re a half blood – well that makes you even more fucking disgusting. At least with a pureblood I can follow the logic of how they end up the way they do – brainwashed and ignorant, raised on archaic bigoted traditions that are illogical and baseless. But you… you’re a special kind of shameful – deplorable, a complete waste of air. How would you have felt if your mother had been targeted, if _she_ was Rose? I know you said they offered to help you, but magic can’t fix _everything_ Evan. If you’d paid attention in school you might have learned that. And if you’d spent any time using that organ between your ears you would know that’s how _you know who_ works – he offers you something you _need_ to get you to join his side, then he uses you and throws you away. You could have gone into hiding, you could have stood up for what was right, you could have gone to someone fighting on the opposite side for help – but you _didn’t_ – you chose the easiest fucking option because you’re a coward.”

Hermione was breathing heavily as her wand poked angrily into Evan’s temple. He’d turned his head away from her to try and relieve some of the pressure, but his eyes were still fixed on hers, he stared unblinkingly as his breath came in pants. She could feel Harry’s eyes on the back of her neck, he was watching her carefully to make sure that she didn’t blow a fuse and just execute Evan on spot – but he wasn’t stepping in to stop her from berating the man.

“This is a waste of my time – you won’t remember this,” Hermione murmured angrily, feeling the blood rushing through her veins as her grip tightened on her wand and she readied herself to cast the spell. “But – I _will_ make sure that you _never_ forget her name. I’ll burn it into your mind, I’m going to engrave it into your soul – you’ll never forget what you did, what she looked like as she bled out on the ground of a dirty alleyway and cried for help. That _Evan_ , is one thing I promise you will _never_ forget.”

Hermione cast the _obliviate_ just as the tremble that ran through Evan’s body reached his legs. His eyes went dull before they drooped closed and she worked on modifying his memories. True to her word she removed everything that had happened after the alley – all of the memories of Harry and her, of them showing up in the darkness, of the look on her face while she punched him square in the face, the cave, the questions – everything. Everything except the small echo of Rose’s name in _his_ voice, she left that single word intact – doing everything she could to highlight name in his memory before she stunned him and wrapped him in a binding chain.

“Are you okay?”

Hermione hadn’t realized that she had remained motionless in front of Evan after casting her spells, her mind had stalled on spot as a wave of conflicting emotions consumed her. Her wand was still outstretched and pointed at Evan but the sound of Harry’s voice next to her ear shook her from her frozen state. He was kneeled next to her, the small warmth from his body was radiating into her arm as he reached forward to lower her wand hand. She had been sitting there consumed with anger, disgust and understanding as she stared at the man before her. She _hated_ that she could understand this man, why he did what he did and how easy it would have been for Voldemort to manipulate him. A microscopic part of her wondered if she should feel bad for letting him go to his death, he wasn’t a cult follower of the purebloods, just a man looking to save the life of his sick mother. It made her want to vomit when she thought about how _many_ people have been manipulated by Voldemort and other power-hungry people throughout the years. They preyed on the weak, they stalked the innocent and desperate, offering them what they needed without ever truly intending to pay up. She hated that war wasn’t easy – it wasn’t clean cut, there weren’t just _bad_ guys and _good_ guys. The lines were blurred, and the situation was as grey as the stone statues that littered the Hogwarts hallways.

“I’m fine,” she said slowly, allowing Harry to take away her wand before she swallowed and turned to face him. “Did you decode the message?”

-x-x-

_Hermione,_

_I think we are well past the point of requiring formalities – please, call me Arthur and never worry about sending me information quickly or as you have it. I’ve charmed my coin to alert me of your communications so I will always be available when and as you need me._

_I dispatched a trusted member of the Order to the scene, I am waiting on a full report, but this individual has indicated that they took care of the muggle police and have control of the crime scene. Please let me know what new information you have when you can as we are currently delaying releasing any information to the Ministry while we develop a plan._

_While I am still awaiting further details it is my understanding that the scene was… a bit of a bloodbath. I trust that the two of you are okay, though I suspect you will not clarify why you knew about the incident. However, I must ask – where is the werewolf corpse?_

_Regards,_

_Arthur_

-x-x-

_Arthur,_

_Yes, we are well. Please know that we will provide any information to you that we can, as we have it – though we may not always be able to disclose how we gathered the information or why we know it. It is our hope that you can trust us in these situations and know that we will only communicate information with integrity when we are confident in our findings. It pains me to ask you for your assistance on this issue, but we are aware that it is not something we can address alone and that we need to work together to win this war. Please know that it means so much to us that you continually offer your support._

_As you are aware there have been muggle disappearances in the Birmingham area. It started with the homeless and other people who would likely go unnoticed – though, I’m afraid now that these abductions have become more brazen and the muggle police have been publicly issuing warnings for citizens to stay indoors at night. Harry and I have confirmed that these abductions are linked to an underground (literally) werewolf den in Birmingham that is being led by someone named Arlo with involvement from a man named Eric. They are capturing muggles and infecting them with lycanthropy to turn them into werewolves to grow an army for you know who. We suspect that he and his followers are preparing for a large move in the war which may result in an outright battle. Since wizarding blood is so valuable to you know who and the werewolves are such strong allies, they have concocted this operation to solve two problems: 1. spare wizarding lives and purebloods from being infected (we both know you know who doesn’t actually support werewolves and will throw them aside when he is done with them), and 2. to create a devastating brute force army that they desire. _

_At this time, I am unsure of how the process works, but the unknown man Arlo is using some sort of bonding magic that involves a golden band to complete the process. The muggle werewolves are then bonded to a wizard who seems to be able to control them with simple commands. Once I have the bonding mechanism solved, I will give you more details but regardless of how or why – the important thing is that this is happening and we must do something. We cannot stand by and allow you know who to take the lives of innocent muggles while we claim to oppose him in the war and feign righteousness. Otherwise we are no better than he – and this, I’m afraid, is where we need your help. _

_We have confirmed that the werewolves are operating out of a den near fish pond, off Netherhall Ave and that they use the underground muggle sewer system to get around. We need to find a way to infiltrate this space and put a stop to this operation. We also need to find a way to more effectively warn the muggles to stay indoors at night until this has been completed._

_In the meantime – we have a man with us who was part of the operation. We have questioned him, but we believe he may have more information available if questioned under legilimency. Unfortunately, I do not possess this skill so I am unable to do it without risking damaging the man’s mind – does the Order have anyone with this skill, and would you be willing to take this man briefly into custody for further questioning before he is released? If yes, please note that it is imperative that you obliviate the man after questioning and then release him – as I am sure you will understand and appreciate, we need to avoid suspicion until the den in Birmingham can be addressed in full. Otherwise the operation may pack up and move and we will be left with a cold trail_

_To answer your question… I currently have the werewolf corpse. Similar to the man who is with us, I need to turn it over to you and we need the report filed at the Ministry to officially address and state the following details:_

  1. _We need a reason for why a trusted Ministry member or wizard would have been in the area, do you have any suggestions? Perhaps there is someone monitoring the muggle crime reports looking for anything suspicious and you can claim intervention when a large wolf was reported by the muggles – you can claim that the police were obliviated._
  2. _The man we may return to you fled the scene and suffered only minor injuries, his location is unknown and only a brief physical description was captured._
  3. _The werewolf was killed on scene and is documented as a wizarding werewolf._
  4. _The deceased man on site stood his ground and fought to the death._
  5. _The incident needs to be logged as a random accident and not linked to the abductions in any way._



_Please let me know your thoughts, and if you are able to accept the werewolf corpse and the man – if so we need to arrange a drop location._

_Thank you,_

_Hermione_

_-x-x-_

_Hermione,_

_I understand – I will work with Kingsley and our Order resources to properly document the crime scene with the muggle police and at the Ministry. I will ensure that the findings are listed appropriately, and that no connection is made between our involvement and any investigation into the muggle disappearances. Rest assured that I will take care of this – you do not need to worry, I fully appreciate the subtlety of discrete political warfare and information management. I will protect this information and it will be fully taken care of._

_As it so happens, we do still have some skill with legilimency in our group – though it is limited. We can take the man for additional questioning and will release him once his memory has been wiped. I can take the werewolf corpse as well – which I will have the appropriate people turn over to the Ministry evidence room to help avoid any suspicions._

_I know that it is late and you two are probably tired – I’m not sure that I want to imagine what you have been through tonight, but we will need to make a drop very soon if we are going to make this work and cover our tracks in order to set ourselves up for success to stop this abominable operation. I will make contact with a few resources in order to get things started based on what you’ve just told me._

_Are you able to meet at 2:47am? I will confirm the location with you shortly, but the format will be that of a standard drop (typical Order procedure, I never thought to tell you two these things in the past) which involves showing up at the designated area at the exact designated time and dropping the goods before apparating away immediately. You should not be present at the location for more than a second and live drops should be stunned and bound._

_Let me know if this works, I’ll send you a location._

_Arthur_

-x-x-

“Did you get the band off?” Harry asked as he approached behind Hermione.

They had agreed to Mr. Weasley’s drop time and then immediately got to work and split their tasks. Harry had taken over the journal communications with Mr. Weasley, coordinating the drop location, passing along additional information on the werewolf activities and informing Mr. Weasley of the victim’s name. Hermione worked expertly to examine the werewolf’s body to look for any clues or lingering magic. She jotted notes down in her book quickly, knowing that they had limited time before they needed to apparate to the drop location and then finally began removing the golden band – she had just stored it securely in her chest when Harry returned to her.

“Just finished – was easier the second time, I think having two might help me finally figure out how they work.” Hermione stood from the ground, carefully returning the chest into her open purse and closing it. “Is he secured and ready to go?”

“Yeah, freshly stunned and bound – per Mr. Weasley’s directions.” Harry said as he glanced over his shoulder at the man still tethered to the cave wall.

“How long do we have?”

“Five minutes.”

“Okay, well let’s feather light this werewolf again and get ready.”

-x-x-

Mr. Weasley paced nervously in his basement workshop. This was certainly not how he thought he would be spending his Sunday night – he’d gone to bed early, exhausted from the terrible week and weekend before and was fully ready to drift off into nothingness and let sleep take him. But when the coin he kept on him at all times began to burn against the skin of his ankle he woke quickly and shuffled out of the bed. He still had not told Mrs. Weasley about the magazine or his communication with Harry and Hermione – so he was thankful that his wife was a deep sleeper. After he snuck out of bed and down to the basement, he decoded Hermione’s message and then contacted Shacklebolt immediately after he read it. They were lucky – and they managed to get a trusted Order member to the crime scene before any other tainted members arrived. He had yet to receive a full report of the incident, but the initial update had been startling. Apparently, the alley was drenched in blood and looked very much like something out of a muggle horror movie.

After that things moved rapidly, each task flashed by like lightening – he switched between his communication with Harry and Shacklebolt, he coordinated a drop area and arranged for their Order member to meet him and Shacklebolt at one of their last remaining safe houses so the package could be questioned. It had been ages since they’d completed any sort of interrogation – Snape was typically the one to do the questioning on their behalf, so Arthur truly had no idea what to expect this time around. Though, Shacklebolt had assured him that his new legilimens man would be _good_.

He ran a hand over his tired face. He hadn’t been able to sneak back upstairs to change for fear of waking Molly and had instead transfigured his sleeping outfit into traditional robes, donning the old moth-eaten jacket that hung in his workshop for warmth. _He_ would be making the drop tonight, and he would be doing it alone. He hadn’t trusted anyone else with the location information and Shacklebolt had agreed, stating that he would meet him at the safehouse at 2:48am. So, in three minutes he would be apparating from the Burrow to a tiny snow-covered hill on the East coast just outside of Hemsby to collect the two bodies. He would then take them to the safehouse, meet with Shacklebolt and the new legilimens and assist with the questioning. It was going to be a long night.

He drummed his fingers nervously on the back of his chair, urging his breath and racing thoughts to calm down. For the first time in months he might catch a glimpse of Harry and Hermione – it would only be for a fraction of a second, and it would only happen if they apparated directly in front of him, but it made him anxious with anticipation. He had no idea what to expect. Everything leading up to this moment had been so hectic that he hadn’t had a moment to think, now his mind was flooding with questions.

How did the two of them manage to take a man captive for questioning? How had they gotten him to talk? Better yet, how on earth had they managed to bring a werewolf corpse with them while apparating? How was the werewolf killed?

He didn’t know if there had been an internal struggle on Voldemort’s side and if the man they had with them was a potential defect or if they themselves had some how managed to injure the creature. Werewolves were not exactly the easiest of beasts to dispatch and he found himself frowning as he pondered the different options. He hadn’t asked yet via the journal, they had been focused on arranging the drop point and exchanging critical information that he would need to help shut this disgusting operation down. But if Mr. Weasley was being honest – he didn’t want to ask. He was afraid of the answer, afraid of what he might learn.

Seeing Ginny at Christmas – her determination, what she was willing to sacrifice to fight in the war and how far she was willing to go shook him. He knew that Harry and Hermione were just as tenacious if not more so and he knew the answers to his questions might not be easy to digest. He wasn’t naïve – he knew that war changed people, he just hoped that it hadn’t changed them too much.

Mr. Weasley eyed the clock on his workshop wall, per the Order’s standard drop procedure he was to arrive about five seconds before them and be prepared to pick up the dropped packages immediately. Counting down from ten, he closed his eyes and apparated away perfectly in sync with his internal timer. The cold air bit at his face the second he landed on the snow-covered hill, it attacked his warming charm and ate through his thin old coat. He ignored it completely, casting a rapid detection spell to ensure that no one else was around before he narrowed his eyes and tried to make out any shapes in the darkness. If not for the small amount of moonlight reflecting off the snow, he wouldn’t be able to see anything – but the faint glow highlighted the hilltop and his eyes were already well adjusted from standing in his dark workshop while he coordinated. Exactly five seconds after his arrival he heard the unmistakably pop of an apparition as a large collection of figures appeared before him and he felt his heart stuttered in his chest. It didn’t matter that they were only visible for less than a second, it didn’t matter that it was dark and freezing and that his mind was exhausted – he would _never_ be able to un-see the split-second image of Harry and Hermione appearing covered in blood against the crisp white snowy backdrop.

They had landed together on the hilltop, Harry holding a man with a bashed and bloodied face by the wrist, his opposite hand gripping the back of Hermione’s neck as she held the severed head of a werewolf in her left hand and the body of it in her right. Had he blinked he would have missed them, for they dropped the bodies and disapparated exactly in line with the procedure he had given. But he hadn’t blinked. He saw the blood that stained their clothes, the worn looks on their hard faces, Harry’s long hair that was caked in blood, Hermione’s stained hands and powerful stance – and the unforgiving harshness that radiated from their eyes.

He swallowed hard in the cold as he stared at the bodies before him. It seemed that the questions that had addled his mind had just been answered… in less than a second.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight: Severus Snape - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Something new this chapter… a post-Christmas surprise! Please welcome Snape to the story.  
> Note: there is a reason for this POV, I plan to circle around to it later and connect the dots. For now, it is just flashbacks and additional information/perspectives on the war. I have a commitment tomorrow so this chapter is shorter than usual since I ran out of time. I’ll see if I can do a mid-week update though.  
> 2\. If you’re not interested in Snape’s POV don’t worry – you won’t miss any main plot by skipping this chapter. While writing this I realized I made a mistake in chapter 22 and have corrected it – Dean was not on the train or helping Ginny at Hogwarts >_< because he was on the run for his life! I’d completely forgotten that, it’s been a while since I read the book *laughs awkwardly* I’ll do better next time!  
> 3\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.
> 
> WARNINGS  
> \- Voldemort being a bad dude… someone dies, people get tortured.

This chapter, along with all future Snape POV chapters, are dedicated to **FluffyPandaShip** \- who is a beacon of light in my life. You are a wonderful human being, and you bring more joy to my world than you can imagine. I’d never considered writing from Snape’s POV in this story, not because I didn’t want to (far from it, I’ve always wanted to write a Snape fanfic) but because originally this story was going to be **_so_ **much smaller than it is now. Since this story has grown, I’ve become interested in rounding it out and giving a more realistic depiction of the war from different perspectives. Your suggestion to include Snape’s POV inspired me and helped me to develop and thicken the plot just a little bit more and maybe give some more substance to some other minor characters :) Seems this story will continue to grow and expand until it is told exactly the way I want it to be.

Thank you for leaving such enjoyable comments, they really do make my day. Please know that you are loved, and you deserve all the best things in life. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**_September 1997_ **

For the first time in possibly the entire history of Hogwarts, the Great Hall was silent during dinner, though it did absolutely nothing to calm the tension felt by every single person sitting there. If anything, the silence made things worse. Each clink of glass, each movement of a plate and every scratch of a knife echoed out across the Hall as students tried to keep their heads down while they ate and avoided looking anywhere up toward the head table. Everyone, that is, except the exceptionally irritating and problematic redhead who continued to glare directly at him. He was fairly confident that she had not taken a single bite of her meal the whole evening.

How could she have – she was sitting rigid as a board, clenching her fork so tightly it had started to bend and dig into the table. The daggers she glared at him were matched only by that idiot boy Longbottom. He would take a bite of his food, shoot a glare through narrowed eyes at the head table and then repeat the process. The two of them had already caused more trouble than he needed, organizing a break in to his office and trying to steal the sword of Gryffindor, a fake sword mind you, but no one else knew that. They’d almost gotten it too – if he hadn’t caught them on the staircase on their way out, they would have managed to pull it off. If this was any indication of how the remainder of the school year was going to go Snape was already out of patience for it.

It wasn’t like he didn’t understand the hatred, why it was directed at him and why the students were terrified to make a peep while they ate. It was only the third week of school and the Carrows had already set a record for the greatest number of detentions ever assigned. Snape wouldn’t have cared, if he was being honest the students were little terrors and more of them deserved detention, but the problem was the _type_ of detentions that the Carrows prescribed. Their cruel, sadistic nature was creative even by Death Eater standards. So, if his life wasn’t difficult enough as it was with keeping tabs on Potter, Granger and the redheaded ape – he now had to manage the Carrows brutality and keep them from killing, maiming or mentally debilitating the students.

So far, he had been able to keep things under control, prevent any major injuries and even reassign several detentions to Hagrid – who he trusted to keep the students safe. Worst case, he knew that he would be able to _Imperius_ the Carrows and then wipe their memories to prevent any devastating detentions or life-threatening situations – but he was hoping to avoid that for as long as possible. It would be risky, it would leave evidence and it would become suspicious. Even the students may begin to question him if he didn’t allow the Carrows to be appalling to some degree – it was all about balance. Right now, he expected that the glares being sent by the two championing Gryffindors had something to do with that young blond boy getting the word ‘ _dunce’_ carved into the back of his hand. The Carrows had apparently found a collection of unique quills, the ones that Umbridge had favoured in fifth year, and they’d taken a liking to them. Those were the least of his concerns right now, the cuts would heal and there would be no lingering damage or dark magic consequences. So, while it was painful, the students would just have to grit their teeth and bare it.

Snape shot a glare to the Gryffindor table, he was pleased to see that everyone there who had been sneaking glances at him all averted their eyes back to their plates. Everyone but the redhead. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to get herself killed and there would be nothing he could do to stop it. While he didn’t relish the idea of killing students or letting them die, he had always known it would become a very real possibility at some point, once the war reached its breaking point. Everything that Dumbledore had planned was coming to a head and now he was left alone dealing with the mess – living daily with the consequences from the mistake he made 17 years ago. A mistake he would regret every second of every day for the rest of his miserable life until he inevitably died in this war.

He’d always known that things would end one of three ways: prison, death or living out his sad wretched life alone. As events continued and time went on the third option seemed less plausible. He’d done too much, seen too much, and was guilty of far too many crimes to ever have his name cleared and be allowed to _live_ a life outside of this war. After killing Dumbledore, the first option faded too, people wanted his head, they wanted him to pay for what he did – they would never allow him to rot away in Azkaban. This left him with only one final possibility. In a strange way he was looking forward to it, to dying, it would be nice to get some peace and quiet for once. It wasn’t like he deserved to live out the remainder of his life after the things he had done anyways – it would be for the best when his clock ran out, the only unknown now was how and when would it happened. His only final wish was that he got to see the Dark Lord fall before he took his last breath. _That_ was the only thing he asked for.

He turned his eyes back down to his plate, deciding to ignore the Weasley girl and instead debate whether or not he should eat the potatoes on his plate. Nothing looked appealing. His appetite was barely existent as it was from the stress and he hardly trusted eating anything served to him anymore – if not for the magical properties of Hogwarts binding the house elves so that they _physically_ could not poison him, they would have already done it. Even still, it was clear from the food they sent him that they were displeased. He’d once received a slice of cake with the word _traitor_ spelled out in red icing on top, undoubtably it was from Dobby. The elf was nothing if not bold and loyal.

 _Seems fitting_ , he rolled his eyes internally but kept his face passive and unreadable to the room. _Just another way to atone for my sins_. He would just make himself something to eat when he returned to the Headmaster’s quarters. _Nothing like plain toast for dinner for the third night in a row._

When dinner was finally over and the students began returning to their house dormitories Snape stood swiftly from the table, side stepping McGonagall as he went. She was staring at him with a mixture of emotions: sadness, disappointment and anger. It did little to improve his mood. Out of everything he hated about returning to Hogwarts after killing Dumbledore that was probably the number one item on his list – the betrayed looks that his fellow staff gave him. It wasn’t like they were ever close before – hell, he wasn’t even friendly with most of them. He’d spent the last seventeen years working two jobs, following Dumbledore’s orders and playing a role. He’d never had the time or the opportunity to make friends or build a life – that was his role, that was his sacrifice. But their looks of disgust and their quiet murmurs about his treachery felt like another weight added to the ever-growing bundle he carried on his shoulders.

Out of all the professors, he regretted lying to Mcgonagall most. She’d always stood by him in the past and treated him kindly despite his unpleasant nature and terrible qualities. He knew he wasn’t a good person – he had _never_ been a good person, but he wasn’t quite as bad as they all believed him to be. Though, he supposed it was a testament to his performance as a double agent that they all loathed him now. At the very least his mission had been successful so far, even if it was exhausting and difficult at times. He feared that it would become more and more difficult to maintain the role that Dumbledore had cast him in if his co-workers continued to voice their displeasure and rebel against him and the Carrows. Their incessant need to _help_ was becoming his biggest concern and added more pressure to his already exceedingly difficult job. If they weren’t careful they too would end up with their heads on the chopping block, right there next to the Weasley girl’s. He may be the Dark Lord’s right-hand man, but he could only do so much.

He barged through the door to the Headmaster’s office and sealed it behind him. He hated this room, he hated every single thing about this damned office – especially the portraits that constantly watched and critiqued everything. A bunch of nosey old bags with nothing better to do than listen in and give their two cents when it wasn’t required _or_ requested. Thank Merlin they were bound to Hogwarts and the acting Headmaster so they couldn’t betray the conversations that happened in this room. Though typically it was just the one portrait that bothered him most…

“Severus, we need to discuss something,” Dumbledore’s familiar voice called out to him from the wall to the right of his oversized desk.

 _Ahh yes,_ Snape thought as he approached the desk and draped his frock coat over the chair. He could feel his sarcasm igniting in his core as he turned to look at the portrait. _There he is – my most_ _favourite_ _portrait of all._

“What?” He said in a clipped tone. He knew this was part of the job, dealing with Dumbledore’s constant requests or need to _chat_ (even in death) was just another reminder of his life’s mistakes.

“The Weasley boy, he’s left as I expected.”

“And what do you want me to do about that?” Snape said as leaned back against the desk and arched an eyebrow. His eyes flashed to the right, unsurprised to see Phineas standing proudly in his frame next to Dumbledore’s. He had clearly gathered some new information on the trio and had been speaking to Dumbledore while he was out of the office. “Go fetch him and return him to his friends? Should I tie his shoe laces for him too? Perhaps give the three of them an instruction manual or should I just resolve this war _entirely_ by myself?”

“Severus, there’s no need to be snide – you know they need to do this part on their own. I had anticipated Ron leaving, it just seems that Harry and Hermione took it a little differently than I thought they would.”

“Well what did you expect them to do – chase after him? The boy’s an idiot, even more so than Potter. Do they need him to finish the task?” It annoyed him to no end that Dumbledore had still not revealed what the _task_ was that they were working on – though he knew that his knowledge of the task would only put himself and the mission Potter was on at more risk. The only thing he _did_ know was that it was critical to defeating the Dark Lord. However, knowing that piece of information only made it harder to sleep – trusting a bunch of children on a task that _allegedly_ would tip the war in their favour was ridiculous.

 _Brilliant Dumbledore,_ he thought in annoyance as his temper started to flare. _Just brilliant._

“Well,” Dumbledore paused for a moment and seemed to consider the situation. “Not exactly, though they are stronger together than apart. I suppose we will just have to wait and see what Ron does – though I expect he will return in time.”

“Great.” Snape said as he pushed off the desk and made for the door in the corner of the office that lead to his own private living quarters. It was the only place he could truly be alone, the only place that was safe for him to speak, think or sleep without anyone overhearing. It was one of the few things about being a Headmaster that he actually enjoyed, the small security of his own quarters to retreat to after long days and nights spent playing two people. Plain toast was calling his name, he currently did not have the capacity to sit and listen to Dumbledore speak words as he pretended to be helpful but really told him nothing at all. “Now that we have that settled.”

“Severus wait – we need to discuss how to get the sword of Gryffindor to them –“

“And what exactly would you like to discuss about that?” Snape practically spat through his teeth as he turned back to the annoying portrait. He was only a foot or two away from peace and quiet and he desperately wanted to get some sleep before he was summoned to Malfoy Manor _again_. He’d been summoned twice this past week and each time he hadn’t returned to the school until after 4am. He did not have the energy to deal with this right now. “We don’t _know_ where they are, which makes it a bit difficult to deliver a sword – and I’d like to remind you that _you_ were the one who refused to tell the boy anything useful – or Granger. She at least has _some_ brain cells. You could have given _her_ information, maybe told her that Phineas wasn’t a spy for the Dark Lord – that he could be a point of contact between you. They’ve been incredibly careful and never give away their location while he is out of the bag – not for a lack of him trying – “

“Thank you –“ Phineas piped up, puffing his chest slightly and giving a quick nod.

“The most I can do is try to charm the portrait so he can hear when the bag is opened while he’s still inside it. And as you might recall – you refused to let me put a trace on the boy – so tell me Dumbledore, what exactly is it that you would like to discuss? How exactly is it that you would like me to deliver the sword – shall I try mailing it to them, send it with an owl? Perhaps put an ad in a muggle newspaper titled ‘ _used sword’_ free delivery?”

Dumbledore frowned at him from his portrait, the crease between his brows deepening before he pushed his half moon spectacles up the bridge of his nose. He was clearly unimpressed by Snape’s behaviour and displeased with how the conversation had gone.

“I can see that now is not a good time, let’s chat tomorrow Severus – and do try to get some rest.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said through gritted teeth as he turned away and closed the distance to the door. His fist balled at his side as he wrenched at the handle with his opposite hand. Dumbledore was one of the few people who could aggravate him into a physical display of emotion – the Marauders were the only other ones who had managed to accomplish that on a regular basis.

He had just pushed through the door and let out a sigh when he felt the familiar burn across his left forearm. The call from the Dark Lord.

“For fuck’s sake,” he said angrily as he turned around and stormed back into the Headmaster’s office, stopping only briefly to grab his frock coat. He apparated away before Dumbledore could open his mouth again.

-x-x-

“Ahhh Severus, so good of you to join us.”

The purr of Lucius’ voice made Snape roll his eyes inwardly, though he maintained his cool look of indifference as he turned to face the Malfoy. He had arrived at the Manor only seconds after his flesh began to burn, putting on his frock coat as he walked through the gate and down the long drive to the Manor. It was irritating that he still could not apparate directly into the house – that right was reserved for Malfoy blood only, and the Dark Lord. Instead it took him a whole five minutes to make it from the gate and into the front door. At least he didn’t have to stand outside like the rest of the Death Eaters and wait for someone to let him in – the Dark Lord had insisted that he be allowed access to come and go without waiting once he was on the property.

Tonight, he hadn’t even made it four steps into the foyer before Lucius crept up from the left. Snape knew he was there, he just hated how he spoke as if there was a choice – of course he would be joining them. _What an incredibly moronic thing to say_ , Snape thought as he closed the distance between them. Upon first glance Lucius looked as impeccable as ever, expensive robes, new shoes, the classic Malfoy smirk plastered across his overly handsome face while he stood trying to look taller than he was – wanting to project his sense of ownership over his home to those who entered, even though everyone knew he’d long since lost it to the Dark Lord.

“Lucius,” Snape said slowly, his eyes darting over the man before him and picking up on all the details that he was trying to hide. A slight crinkle on his shirt collar, a small scuff on his new shoe, a microscopic shimmer below his eyes betrayed the glamour he was using to cover up the dark circles and a dullness to his hair that wasn’t usually present revealed his deteriorating health. Yes, the stress was getting to Lucius Malfoy – though Snape supposed that was to be expected. After all the Dark Lord had infested this man’s house for the last year and put incredible demands on his family.

“We will be meeting in the second-floor drawing room tonight,” Lucius said as he stepped toward the large staircase to their right.

Snape didn’t miss the minuscule twitch next to Lucius’ right eye and he steeled his nerves. As detached as he was from his emotions, he did not enjoy nights like tonight – the twitch had given it away. The Dark Lord had brought _company_ to the Manor and he suspected that the night would be a long one. Divulging nothing on his own feelings he followed closely behind Lucius up the stairs, he could hear several other voices as they drew closer – Bellatrix of course, she would never miss out on a night of _fun_ and Scabior, who had probably collected the _guests_.

When he entered the room, he noticed two other snatchers near Scabior, Narcissa was there too, standing quietly against the left wall and looking as worn as her husband, and the Dark Lord himself. No matter how many times he saw him, those blood red eyes always sent a small shiver down his back and made his blood run cold. Snape wasn’t ashamed to say he was afraid of the Dark Lord – you would be a fool not to be. The man, if you could even call him that now, was evil, tyrannical, merciless and abominable. Snape’s eyes shifted down to the center of the room. Someone had removed the long table from the room and before them sat a Goblin, Marley the apothecary keeper from Godric’s Hollow, Herbert the herbologist from Mould-On-The-Wall, and Dean Thomas – former Hogwarts student. Each of them was bound to a chair and looked ragged.

“Seeverus,” Voldemort hissed, his flat face twisting into a wicked smile as Snape entered the room and stood to the right near Lucius. “Glad you’ve made it – now we can get started. As you know, we are interested in gaining control over supplies – several greenhouses have already pledged their allegiance and we have come to an agreement with most apothecaries.”

Snape nodded once, he already knew this information. And he knew that by _agreement_ the Dark Lord meant they had killed one apothecary owner already and kidnapped the wife of another until the man agreed to cooperate. There was no such thing as a bargain when dealing with the Dark Lord – he got what he wanted one way or another. It was just a question of how long it would take or how much you were willing to lose until you gave it to him.

“I’m pleased to introduce Marley, apothecary owner in Godric’s Hollow and Herbert who runs one of the largest greenhouses. We’ve been interested in striking a deal with them for some time.”

They hadn’t been able to find them, Marley had gone into hiding and distributed her goods secretly. Herbert had warded himself into his greenhouse underground, putting up an extensive fight until finally the werewolves were able to bombard their way in under Bellatrix’s command. Dean was lucky, the Dark Lord hadn’t mentioned him by name so he might still survive the night. Likely he was captured by accident around the same time as the Goblin so he might manage to get away with minor torture before being held in the Malfoy dungeons. He could see Dean glance up toward him, his cheek was bruised and split, he was trying to catch his eye with a glare but was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. There was nothing that Snape could do here. It would be unfortunate if the Dark Lord decided to kill him, but he wouldn’t be able to intervene. It would be Charity Burbage all over again and another weight to add to his shoulders.

“I’m not helping _you_ ,” Marley spat, her eyes wide with anger as she pulled against the bindings on her chair.

 _Apparently not everyone here is as smart_ , Snape thought with an inward sigh as the Dark Lord’s eyes snapped directly to Marley. Had Marley been smarter she would have cooperated – or at least pretended to. She could have sabotaged the goods given to the Death Eaters, worked underground with the remains of the Order or at least kept herself alive until the war was over. Her fate was all but sealed now.

“Isss that so?” Voldemort said quietly, his red eyes practically glowed in the low light of the room as he took a step toward her.

Snape saw her visibly shiver, her bottom lip trembled at the Dark Lord’s closeness and her eyes widened slightly in fear. Still he applauded her courage as she jutted out her chin and looked at Voledmort defiantly. It was just a shame that her bravery was wasted.

“Yes,” she said, head held high. If she thought she would just be held captive she was sorely mistaken, the Dark Lord didn’t take prisoners unless they held some sort of value and an uncooperative apothecary owner had no value. She would be replaced with someone else more willing to complete the role the Dark Lord had planned.

“And what would your family think of that?” Voldemort hissed against her ear as her whole body began to shake. He enjoyed pushing into people’s personal space, pushing their boundaries, he knew how uncomfortable it made them. He knew how much people feared him, feared his appearance, were revolted by how he moved and spoke. He fed off their fear, craving the revulsion and satisfying his power-hungry ego from their reaction. The more you reacted the more he would take.

“I don’t have any family.”

Voldemort leaned back and looked toward Narcissa, who nodded once in confirmation. She was in charge of data collection on key personnel among other tasks – her years of high society living, traversing gossip circles, knowing everyone in the wizarding world and their heritage had become her skill in the war. Who would have guessed that such a selfish, materialistic and vain woman who was only interested in self preservation would become such a highly ranked member of the Dark Lord’s circle? She had long since surpassed Lucius’ role and was actually respected by the Death Eaters and utilized by the Dark Lord with confidence.

She hated it, Snape knew, she’d confided in him months ago. The knowledge that her information often was the deciding factor in whether or not someone lived or died weighed heavy on her mind; it had started to eat away at her soul and change her as a person. It certainly didn’t help that many of the deaths happened in her home, staining her floors both literally and figuratively. The things that happened here would never be erased and she’d said she worried that she would never be clean again. It was easy as a wealthy pureblood to believe that you were better than everyone else, to _know_ your superiority, to fall into step with the prejudice teachings of your established family and support the cause. But it was different when you saw it, different when it happened in your home, when the blood was spilled on your marble – when it was on your hands because you pulled the trigger, you gave the nod. It was different when they involved your son and tried to put blood on his hands too. Narcissa had begun to learn the hard way that sometimes what you think things are is not their reality – that maybe, you were wrong.

“Then we have nothing more to speak about,” Voldemort said as he returned his eyes to Marley. “ _Crucio_.”

The woman screamed loudly, the sounds tore from her throat like broken glass as she seized in her chair against the bindings. Her limps tried to thrash out, but they were strapped to the chair and unable to move so the whole seat vibrated instead. Dean’s eyes went wide at the sound before he clamped them shut and turned his head away. There was no need for the torture, the Dark Lord wouldn’t question her again or ask her to help – he would kill her. He was doing it because he wanted to, because he could and to show Herbert what was coming if he refused to cooperate. The Dark Lord never granted easy deaths, that would be merciful, and blood-traitors deserved pain and agony. You suffered first. Only then would he kill you.

“ _Avada kedavra._ ” The word was spoken so normally that if it wasn’t for the bright flash of green you might have thought nothing would happen, like you’d just caught the tail end of a casual conversation.

Marley went still in her chair, the screams stopped instantly though Snape could still hear them echoing in his mind. Even if he did return at a decent hour, he doubted he would find any rest tonight.

“Herbert,” Voldemort turned, pacing down the row of chairs to the large man at the end closest to Narcissa. “I understand that you have a daughter?”

Narcissa nodded once more when the Dark Lord glanced to her for confirmation. Snape did not miss the twitch of her left hand against her robe as she gave the confirmation. Children affected her more, they were the hardest thing for her to detach herself from.

“I would like to propose a new business deal,” Voldemort said as he leaned down in front of the man and gave him a dangerous smile. “An arrangement for supplies.”

“Yes,” Herbert said, his eyes were clouded over with tears and his hands were trembling at his sides against the chair. “Yes – we would be honoured to arrange a supply deal.”

Clearly knowing that the Dark Lord had knowledge of his hidden daughter was enough to break the man, that combined with having a friend tortured and killed next to you. Marley and Herbert had worked together in potion supplies for over fifteen years and Leena, Herbert’s squib daughter, was his pride and joy that he’d tried to hide once the shadows of war started to grow three years ago.

“Good.” Voldemort said as he turned and walked toward Narcissa. “Place the others in the dungeons, keep them _unspoiled_ – we might need them later because of their association with Potter and knowledge of Gringotts. Make arrangements with Herbert for regular deliveries as discussed.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Narcissa nodded, keeping her head bowed, no doubt hiding her emotion.

“Lucius,” Voldemort turned slowly, dangerously, his body practically sliding across the floor as a serpent would. He stopped before Lucius, much too close for comfort. His eyes were lethal as they stared down the man next to Snape who was currently doing his best not to quiver. He spoke again in a lowered hiss so that only Snape and Lucius could hear. “Ensure that _this_ time you don’t disappoint me. The deliveries are required _every_ month and I expect you to verify the stock before you drop it off.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Lucius bowed similarly to Narcissa though his voice wasn’t as strong. He’d been on the receiving end of the Dark Lord’s wrath for quite some time. Frankly, it was a wonder the man was still alive at all.

“Severus, once the first round of supplies arrives, I need you to brew more veritaserum and deliver it to the usual location.” His eyes flicked over to Snape, but he remained standing in front of Lucius, pressing into his personal space and enjoying the discomfort that radiated from the man.

“Yes, my Lord,” Severus echoed like the rest, inclining his head.

“Bellatrix! Give _one_ round to Herbert for wasting our time at the greenhouse and laying waste to our resources. He will not be spared again.” Voldemort snapped his head toward her before he turned on his heel and apparated away.

A disturbing cackle of joy split the air of the room as Bellatrix all but danced her way over to Herbert. Her smile was almost as crazed as her eyes, her wand twirling between her fingers as she cocked her head to the side to look at the man.

“Oh Herbert, Herbert, Herbert,” she cooed, puffing a curl out of her face as she leaned down to grin widely at him. “I told you, you should have come out. _Crucio!_ ”

Narcissa moved quickly, she was already before Dean when Bellatrix cast the spell. Herbert’s screams split through the air as he writhed in pain under Bellatrix’s curse and she flinched at the sound. Snape watched as she hauled Dean from his bindings and began to lead him out of the room to the dungeons at wand point - of course she chose to take him from the room first, any young kid reminded her of Draco. But just like him, Snape knew that Narcissa would do nothing to help the other _guests_ tonight, because there was nothing that they could do – at least not yet.

So, for now he would do what he always did. He would grit and bare it. Snape would ignore Narcissa’s wince, he would tune out Herbert's gut wrenching cries and he would dismiss the tremble he felt from Lucius’ body next to his. He would detach himself, swallow his own agony and occlude everything away. He would pretend not to care about the lives of the people before him because war was toxic and crushing, - and it would kill you if you let it.

-x-x-x-x-

To be continued…

With the new year approaching I’m curious: what is your new year’s resolution? Do you plan to make one or do you think that it’s just a stupid tradition?

For me, I try to think of it as a time to set goals for the upcoming year and check in on the ones I set the previous year – though really you should set goals anytime you have them :)

I’m pleased to say that 2019 turned out much better than I anticipated, and I accomplished several of the goals that I set. I’ve found my confidence growing a bit day by day – and it is largely thanks to you all.

This upcoming year… my goal is to not only finish this fanfiction, but to publish two original works that I’ve been developing on the side for some time. This story has far surpassed my original goal and extended beyond what I planned to write – and I’m so glad that it has! It’s pushed me, helped me grow, inspired me, made me feel defeated at times and yet encouraged at others. I’m happy to be writing this and so incredibly grateful to all of you who have chosen to read this story. Your comments make my day and you keep my tiny little writer’s flame burning.

Happy advanced New Year everyone! I will see you in 2020.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Back to H&H this chapter! Thanks for reading Snape last week :)  
> 2\. Spent some time updating my master chapter summary cheat sheet… I’ll be needing that soon.  
> 3\. Happy New Year Everyone! I hope that you all had a wonderful holiday season and that 2020 brings you much joy, love, health and incredible experiences. Thank you for reading, I’ve had a lot of fun writing this, it’s grown to become something I never anticipated but honestly, I’m proud of that. I’m excited to wrap this bad boy up in 2020 (no deadline as to when, but it will be completed this calendar year).  
> 4\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

Hermione woke with a start, her hand finding her wand next to her pillow, fingers curling reflexively around it faster than a heartbeat as she jolted upright in bed and extended her arm. Eyes wide and wild she scanned the tent before her as she felt her heart race so rapidly, she could hear it in her ears, while her body became rigid with tension as her senses overloaded on high alert. She completed a mental check of their wards, then cast a wordless detection spell to look for danger or intruders – but nothing was out of the ordinary. The tent was completely void of enemies, the antivenom potion was stewing quietly in the potion lab to her left and the familiar sound of wind tearing across the tent echoed around the room.

There was absolutely nothing within the tent to cause the cold terror that gripped her heart, that made her stomach knot and her hand twitch in readiness, willing to eradicate the nearest threat without a blink of hesitation. She was left panting upright in bed, nerves on edge as she glanced around again and again until she finally felt the warmth of Harry’s hand on her waist and his soft voice near her ear. Her pulse slowed as his thumb traced over the bare skin of her hip bone which was peeking out between her shirt hem and her pajama pants, and his words soothed the rigid stiffness from her body.

“Hey – it’s okay, it’s just us.”

She felt her shoulders relax, she took a breath and heard the shake of the air as she exhaled and slowly lowered her wand. It had been two nights since they made the drop to Mr. Weasley and this had happened on both. She’d awake just before dawn with a cold shiver tracing down her spine and her body switched to auto pilot – shooting upright in bed ready to attack. She let Harry pull her back down into the warm sheets, storing the wand by her pillow again and turning on her opposite side so she could curl into his chest. He didn’t say anything else, he just wrapped his strong arms around her tightly and she tucked her head under his chin against the bare skin of his chest.

There wasn’t anything else _to_ say, there wasn’t anything that he could do to help her except to be there with her. Which he was and had been since the moment they arrived back in the North after dropping off the packages to Mr. Weasley.

Neither one of them had even considered their appearance before they apparated to make the drop, there hadn’t been time to check their reflection in a mirror or take a shower. They truly did not anticipate just how terrifyingly horrendous they looked until after they returned and set up the tent. They had made their way to the bathroom to clean up, both of them moving slowly with exhaustion as the adrenaline from the night’s events finally wore off, only to find that they were caked in dried blood and worn with dirt. She looked like something from a nightmare with a ghastly expression, both of them vicious and hardened. Hermione’s hair was protruding at odd angles, the knees of her jeans were ripped from kneeling on the ground, and the grim and blood that stuck to her seemed like it was permanently a part of her body. Harry was no better, his ponytail could hardly be called a ponytail any more – it hung low and limp from the back of his head, held mostly in place by the dried blood and frozen water that coated it. He too looked like he had been rolling in a dirty, bloodied pool, which was not far off from what they had been through. It was in that moment as she stood before the mirror that Hermione wondered if Mr. Weasley had caught a glimpse of them on the snow-covered hill, though part of her hoped he hadn’t. She wasn’t sure how to feel about him knowing what they’d been through, what they’d become.

Three _scourgifies_ and a hot steaming shower later Hermione still didn’t feel clean. The blood, it had been everywhere, both her and Harry had burned their clothes Monday morning after they first awoke before starting the antivenom potion. They hadn’t discussed it, they both just knew that they never wanted to wear or see those clothes again, they would never be rid of the death that lingered on them. She wasn’t sure if she ever would ever be clean again, and she knew that the stains from that evening would forever be inked into her heart.

The images of Rose laying in that dirty alley haunted her mind and swam before her vision every time she closed her eyes; it was what had woken her each night since she killed Rose with _Avada Kedavra._ Always the eyes, the light blue eyes – clear like a morning’s sky, that shook her awake and left her panting for air. There was no hatred in the eyes that woke her, no anger, no despair, no nothing – they were empty and dead. Small crinkles lingered near the corners from when she had smiled but they looked unnatural and didn’t match the emptiness that radiated from the dark pupils. It wasn’t horror that startled her awake, it wasn’t even anger, it was an unparalleled sense of despair and sadness that surged through her, rattled her mind and filled her with cold terror. She wasn’t in turmoil over her decision to kill Rose and grant her final wish of death – she was haunted by the unrelenting anguish she had over _why_ she had done it. It was the terror of their entire situation that ate away at her, the unanswered question of how many others had suffered before this, how many others had bled out and died alone and confused that haunted her through those eyes. Then the question that whispered to her, the one that made her stomach knot – _how many more until we can stop it?_

Her only hope was that with time it would fade, that maybe if they won the war, she would be able to sleep peacefully again – maybe. While she would never know how many lives were truly lost because of one man’s prejudice at least she knew that it _would_ stop eventually. The rest would be saved, the heinous experiments would stop – she would be sure of it if it was the last thing she did, and she would never forget Rose’s memory.

She knew that it was affecting Harry as well, in times like this is wasn’t just about who cast the final spell or who said the words. He was there, he held Rose’s hand, gazed into her eyes and tried to keep her calm while she was dying. Hermione could see the way it bothered him, how his shoulders tensed, how he tossed in his sleep, or how a distinct little line of worry would appear across his brow while he was deep in thought. They were both carrying the baggage of that night and she didn’t know if it would ever become less heavy. It added to the intensity of their already paranoid behaviours and she was seriously beginning to wonder how, if at all, they would ever acclimate back into _normal_ society.

She slept in Harry’s bunk every night, she had been since December after she nearly died in the pond retrieving the sword. They didn’t bother expanding the bed because they didn’t _want_ more space, they both felt safer in the small bunk squished up next to each other closely for warmth. Harry always slept with his back against the tent wall, Hermione on her side curled into him and facing the tent door. Her wand was always next to her pillow, less than an arm’s length away in case they needed to grab it, her purse was on the night stand by her head ready for use, the tent was guarded by a dozen different detection spells and booby traps, and they both had started to sleep with a charm cast that amplified any sound other than normal ambient noises throughout the tent so they would be woken up if someone actually did manage to get by their wards.

On top of that, they always set up the tent with the back wedged against a cliff, or boulder, or some other solid rock foundation so that their bunk was safe against the impenetrable surface. Neither one of them fancied an ambush and if it did happen, they sure as hell were not going to be backstabbed through a tent while they slept. At this point the idea of sleeping in a house without easy escape, or staying with other people, or staying in one location for more than a few days at a time gave Hermione crippling anxiety – so she had stopped thinking about it entirely. She would deal with that when they came to it. For now, laying in the bunk next to Harry and traversing around inside the tent was the only place she truly felt safe.

She sighed into Harry’s chest as she closed her eyes and nuzzled her nose into his warm skin. The scar from the locket was still there – it had healed, but like the scar that ran down his left arm and the ones that traced across her chest it would never go away. Dark magic had tainted them both and she speculated how much damage they would accumulate over the course of the war – it was possible that both of them would come out looking like Mad Eye Moody by the end of it. She supposed that wouldn’t be the worst thing, at least they would be alive, which would be a greater success than what she had already braced herself for.

The wind tore across the tent again, shaking it violently, but calming her nerves as she pressed further into Harry. The more the weather worsened the better she felt and the easier she could breath. They were camped so far North that they were in complete whiteout conditions. No night watch was necessary, and she knew that they would be safe while the antivenom potion simmered for the rest of the day before she could bottle and store it. The air was so frigid outside that warming charms were insufficient to get by for longer than half an hour which meant that no one would be able to make it through their wards or get anywhere close to the tent.

She highly doubted that _anyone_ was out in this area anyway and if they were, they would probably die from exposure or be forced to apparate away before they became a threat. She breathed out a final breath and used her meditation to calm her nerves. She would try to get one more hour of sleep before she pulled herself from the bunk and resumed their work.

-x-x-

The remainder of the week passed by in a blur. Harry researched Horcruxes and tinkered with a few new spells he’d learned from Hermione’s books while she focused her attention on the golden werewolf bands, determined to get as much information to Mr. Weasley as possible. Most of the spells he had found were defensive, though several of them were rather nasty attacks – including one which essentially froze an opponent similar to how liquid nitrogen would. If cast successfully you could tap you opponent with a hammer, and they would shatter into a thousand pieces. Hermione had said she’d never seen anything like it and Harry thought it would be another good skill to master and add to their arsenal. When they weren’t researching, they were brewing any final potions that they could, repacking their supplies, organizing their medical kits, practicing spells and healing, and dueling in the cleared out main tent area using the ring format they had developed months ago.

The events of the alley had acted as a catalyst to their already burning motivation, both of them moved and worked as if chased by fiend fire – completely immersed in their work and unyielding in their dedication. Throughout the week they kept in touch with Mr. Weasley and learned that everything had been successfully covered up at the Ministry. The werewolf corpse was burned as part of the mandated disposal process before anyone could identify it as being _non-magical_ and _you know who’s_ men seemed to dismiss interest in the case rather quickly as they had more important things to attend to. While Mr. Weasley kept the details brief, as he also needed to protect his own information and actions, he did inform them that the Order’s new legilimens was able to get images of the werewolf den from Evan’s mind. They’d pulled several more useful memories for further examination and then wiped the man’s brain back to where Hermione had left it before they let him go. Both Hermione and Harry suspected that Evan was already dead – and based on the quiet from the Death Eaters and the additional muggle disappearance reported Wednesday in Birmingham, it seemed that the werewolf project was still underway. Arlo and _you know who_ were completely unaware that the Order now knew about their operation.

Mr. Weasley did not tell them of their plans to disassemble the werewolf den, but he assured Hermione and Harry that they were working on it and that he would keep them posted and tell them what information he could. Unfortunately, it was not so simple as storming the base once they had Evan’s memories – resources were scarce, and reliable Order member lives were valuable. Recon was required, information needed to be gathered, a plan assembled, and volunteers selected before any sort of mission would be under way. So, while they waited for new updates on the progress from Mr. Weasley, they kept busy, and on Thursday, Hermione finally made a breakthrough.

“Harry!” Hermione called loudly, disrupting Harry from his practice of neatly slicing a solid block of ice into several different pieces with wordless and wandless magic. “Harry! – I’ve figured it out – it’s bonding blood magic, it’s in the bracelet – and it _is_ based on Tolipkins research!”

Harry had just finished his fourth cut and was about to get up from the table to come join her on the tent floor when she all but apparated over to him in excitement. She vanished his neat little ice blocks from the table with a flick of her finger and cast a drying spell before she dumped a pile of paper onto the smooth surface. She almost clambered over top of it to point to a book that she’d marked and highlighted. One of the golden bands was now very thinly sliced into different sizes and wrapped in a cloth so she didn’t have to touch it, she placed in gently to the side before she continued speaking at a fast pace.

“Harry it’s blood magic – blood bonding magic, not soul bonding – but they added a stasis charm! I never would have figured it out without examining the corpse and taking a sample – it’s a combination multipart spell modified from several different pieces of old research, but the entire thing is unbalanced – that’s why it doesn’t always work and why the werewolves die after a few months! The stasis charm was _never_ intended to be used on humans, this Arlo guy, he’s pulled it from research done in the early 1900’s by a witch who was trying to keep plants from changing forms. She was a herbologist, she tested the charm on Mandrakes with great success but not on people – it’s not designed for that!”

Harry’s eyes darted over the page that Hermione was pointing to, it was an article detailing the work done by a lady named Cecile – she’d created the spell in an effort to save her crops and plants after an economic downturn. Home potion brewing had started to decrease in popularity and then the economy went south. Wizards struggling to find work did not have the money to purchase the required ingredients to make their own common household potions so they went without as they could not afford to buy them anymore. She was having trouble selling her stock and balancing her plants with the market demand. She’d lost a significant amount of money when her Mandrakes and other plants could not be sold and had to be disposed of after they passed their prime usage age. She used the spell to preserve the plants in their current state for up to 3 years at a time and it helped her manage her potion ingredients – but she’d never formally published or documented the spell, keeping it for only her own use. The book Hermione had was an obscure old work that contained copies of articles from a now non-existent wizarding journal magazine called _World Magizene_. The article was an interview with Cecile and it even included a sketch of the woman next to her personal garden.

“This Arlo man, he must have found this article and then somehow figured out what the spell was – maybe he questioned the family or found her research notes.” Harry said as his eyes finished scanning the article and looked back up to Hermione who was nodding. “Or – maybe she wasn’t the first or the last herbologist to create this spell – surely others had the same problem and then dabbled in creating a solution. There may be greenhouses out there right now that use similar spells.”

“Exactly! But he either never bothered or wasn’t able to adjust the spell so that it worked on human’s properly. Magical properties and spell creation are not so different from muggle chemistry – except that the properties are much more complicated to manage and resolve because they often change or don’t follow any particular rules – but this equation on humans never balanced, it was self-decaying. With the spell Cecile created the stasis charm worked because it allowed the cells of the plants to regenerate over and over from exactly the state they were in when the spell was cast – it never allowed them to age or change. It puts the plant in a loop, forever stuck at that point in time until the spell was removed.” Hermione took a breath and shook her head in disbelief, Harry could see her mind reeling. It was moving faster than she could manage to get the words out. “My guess is, after he infects the muggles with Lycanthropy, he waits until the first full moon and then casts the stasis, locking them in werewolf state – but they’re dying, and it’s because their cells aren’t replicating properly. Some replicate too much while others too little, so from the second he casts the charm they’ve got a limited time to live because of the damage it causes. Even if there was a way to remove the stasis charm they would likely still die.”

“So, it’s almost like having cancer and senescence happen at the same time – but he can’t be bothered to fix it because it _works_ just long enough for their purposes. It’s not worth his time to fix it, they just get more muggles.” Harry thought out loud as she sifted through the papers before him.

Hermione had been busy, he knew that, but somehow _seeing_ her research was still always mind blowing. Her attention to detail and ability to sift through huge quantities of data was unmatched and frankly magical. He saw scribbles of her working out potential spells and her arithmancy calculations to determine how the stasis charm might work. It was starting to feel like things were falling into place.

“Or he can’t fix it,” Harry muttered when he came across a particularly difficult arithmancy calculation she had completed. “Human biology is much more complex than plants, I’m not sure it’s possible to create a stasis charm what would work on a person like that.”

“I’ve never heard of it before,” Hermione agreed as she slipped into the seat across the table from him and pulled out some more papers. “The closest thing I’ve come across is petrification – but that’s not the same thing as a stasis charm which keeps the charmed item _alive_ and exactly as it was in one form _without_ damaging it. It’s an incredible feat – and no wonder why herbologists would keep it secret if they managed to figure it out. It would give them a huge advantage. “

“So how did he tie that in with a blood bond?” Harry asked after he noticed that her stasis paperwork didn’t seem to have any mention of the actual bonding.

“That’s where the bracelet comes in,” Hermione said pointing to the golden pieces, but not touching them. “They’re gold plated silver and it’s where the blood bond is permanently held – think unbreakable vow but designed to be breakable because you can physically remove the _bond_. Blood from the collector is embedded into the band that’s placed on the werewolf and blood from the werewolf is embedded into the band worn by the collector. He bonds them with the servitude banding magic that Tolipkins experimented with. The bond only works if they’re both wearing the golden bracelet.”

Harry watched as Hermione slid a long scroll of parchment towards him, it was covered in her writing and notes, they were jammed in all over the page, documenting the countless iterations she had run while completing her calculations and examining the details of the golden band. After she had a second set of golden bands, she was less concerned about destroying their only sample and was able to run several more tests including ones destructive in nature. At the bottom he saw the starred text and immediately understood why she was showing it to him.

“There are three distinct blood samples,” he said as he picked up the page, eyes wide from her findings.

“Exactly – I wouldn’t have been able to figure it out without the second set. The werewolf is bound to the collector in a complete servitude bond, so it only has the blood of the collector in its band. The collector has the blood from the werewolf _and_ the blood from someone else. This third blood sample was consistent across the two sets so I’m assuming it must be Arlo’s.” She said as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “What it does is, it bonds the collector to be _loyal_ to the intent of the overall servitude bond – basically to follow the direction as set out by Arlo at the time of bonding. It creates what I’ve decided to dub the _intent_ bond and it is actually reflected back to the werewolf. It’s probably why it didn’t work on Evan – or some other snatchers, because they weren’t truly willing to serve the overall master plan. They’re not true _loyal_ supporters of _you know who_ – just people trying to save their own ass.”

“You had said Tolipkins’ banding magic was unbalanced,” Harry said slowly as he flipped the page over to examine her work, trying to find where the unbalance was shown in her calculations. “So, the werewolves are just being blasted by both sides – death by stasis and by a servitude bond? It’s no wonder they don’t last longer than a few months tops.”

“Well,” Hermione said quietly, her shoulders slumping before she continued. “From what I could tell, and from the calculations I ran off what I could pull from the golden bands – it seems like he was actually able to balance the bond that Tolipkins created. It’s was the addition of the _intent_ bond being reflected back to the werewolf that solved it. The problem with the original servitude bond is that it was inherently unbalanced. There was nothing being given by the collector in the equation and the person bound to servitude can _never_ truly fulfill the bond – because permanent servitude is an impossible feat. Tolipkins hadn’t considered that because he was only interested in having a servant, he didn’t _want_ to contribute anything. The werewolves are _only_ dying from the stasis spell Harry, which is terrifying, _imperius_ is bad enough – they don’t need a second method to place people under servitude. Especially not one that works indefinitely.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Harry groaned as he dropped his head into his hand and took a deep breath. This was about as bad as it could possibly be.

“I wish I was,” Hermione grimaced as she spoke. “But that’s not even the worst part.”

“Fuck,” Harry groaned as he lifted his head and met her eyes. She looked tired, worn, and disturbed by her findings. The excitement of what she had accomplished was wearing off and now she was left with the reality of the information – he could see her posture change and her demeanor become more solemn. “What’s the worst part?”

“Arlo added ancient runes,” she said quietly, nodding toward the golden band on the table. “They’re engraved into the blood bond – to make it additionally effective. He could have added a third one to balance the equation instead of his blood, it wasn’t even required to create an intent bond.”

“Which ones?” Harry felt his chest tighten once more as he began to comprehend just how evil the bonding bands could be.

“Ehwaz and Tiwaz,” Hermione spoke softly as she watched his face.

“Loyalty and authority,” Harry said quietly, his jaw clenching as he let out a tight breath.

Ancient Runes were difficult – they all had several meanings and their combinations were complex and challenging to decipher and depended heavily on intent when placed. Hence why there was an entire field dedicated to studying them and their use. He hadn’t taken the class while at Hogwarts, but he _had_ picked up Hermione’s textbook over the last few months and read through it to get a bare minimum understanding. He was familiar now with the most common runes and their meanings, which was better than nothing even if he wouldn’t be able to look at a combination and figure out what they did together. With Ehwaz and Tiwaz though – it wasn’t difficult to pick out the meanings intended.

“Harry this is bad,” she said quietly, her eyes now downcast on the band. “If Arlo knows, if _you know who_ knows this could be the start of something terrible.”

“Hermione he can’t know – he can’t possibly know that he balanced the bonding charm. The werewolves are dying, he probably hasn’t tried it on anyone without that stasis charm,” Harry shook his head. There was no way Arlo knew or they would have progressed into even more disturbing territory by now. “We would see those bands popping up everywhere if he knew.”

“I agree – but Harry it’s only a matter of time until he figures it out. Or until someone else does. Then what?”

“Then we deal with it like how we have been dealing with everything else – but we try to stop it before it gets to that point. We need to let Mr. Weasley know, but _only_ Mr. Weasley – the last thing we need is for other people to get their hands on this information and think that they can _repurpose_ it for _the greater good_ or Merlin knows what else.”

“His work needs to be destroyed, Harry – before someone else finds it,” Hermione was nodding in agreement as she restacked her papers. “We need to tell Mr. Weasley to burn that entire facility to the ground. Now that I’ve seen the solved arithmancy calculations – I can already see how it could be modified any number of different ways with no issues. I’ve spent only a day with it and I already know you could use it to track people – you could even use it as a health monitor. Someone else can easily figure this out.”

“Maybe not easily,” Harry gave her a small smile. “But, we’ll write Mr. Weasley today and let him know immediately. Did you figure out how is he successfully infecting them though? Most muggles reject Lycanthropy and die.”

“That’s the only part of this I don’t know,” Hermione said with a sigh as she rubbed her temple. “It’s unrelated to the banding. He could be injecting them with small amounts, maybe healing them as the transform? Typically, Lycanthropy is passed through bites which are traumatic – it’s possible that muggles are better able to process the infection when their body isn’t under stress from trying to heal dark magic.”

“Yeah not to mention we have no idea how many muggles he infected until he was successful and got the process down pat,” Harry murmured angrily under his breath.

That was the absolute worst part of all of this, and the thing that made Harry’s skin crawl. How many lives had Arlo spent in the pursuit of his experimentation? How many more would be lost until they and Mr. Weasley were able to dismantle the den and the operation. It killed him that they couldn’t just go and destroy the den now, he hated that he _knew_ he had to wait. They had to be clever and cunning, careful and cautious. This war wasn’t on the battlefield yet and if they wanted to avoid even more loss of life they would try to keep it that way while they continued to fight in the shadows for as long as possible – saving whatever lives they could until they were ready to strike, so that when they finally did make their move it would annihilate the operation in its entirety.

“I’ll get the journal,” Hermione said slowly as she removed all her documentation from the table and brought it over to her work area.

“It’s okay, put your notes back – I’ll grab it,” Harry pushed himself from the table and made his way over to the potion lab to grab the journal that Hermione had left in there.

He knew that she was particular about her notes and would want to take a moment to store everything properly. He wished that she didn’t have to use her talent to research such a disgusting experiment. He wished that she was back in school in her seventh year, enjoying her studies, taking far too many classes and loving every second of it while she stressed and fussed about exams and essays. He would have joined her in the library. They could have studied together, they could have sat together in the common room while they ate the food that Dobby snuck them from the kitchen. He would have asked her to go to Hogsmeade with him, he would have bought her the most unique and fascinating book for Christmas after spending hours searching for the perfect one in Diagon Alley.

He grabbed the journal from the potion lab table and turned to see her bent over her notes. Carefully rolling the papers and folding her calculations before storing them in the tiny desk she’d created by transfiguring a spare chair in the main room. The thought pained him, and he made a mental promise to ensure that Hermione got her final year after the war was over. If she wanted to, he would return to Hogwarts with her, he would arrange a way for them to go – he’d talk to McGonagall. He sighed soundlessly and made his way over toward her, watching the way she shuffled the papers in hand and the way her shirt rode up her back as she bent over. It was a waste of time to dwell on their current situation and ‘what could have been’. Wishing that they were back to their warm comfortable days at Hogwarts before shit hit the fan wouldn’t get them anywhere – no matter how badly he wished it were true.

But he could safeguard her future, he could ensure that she had her chance to finish her studies and graduate with nothing but O’s on her NEWTS. One way or another he would make sure she got to finish her schooling – she didn’t need it, she had far surpassed anything that would be taught at Hogwarts – but he knew that she would want to. It struck him as he approached her that they may never have ended up together had this war not happened, had Ron not left, had the Horcruxes been easier to find, had things been less difficult than they were. He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her small waist, pulling her back into his chest and nuzzling his nose into her neck. He could feel her relax in his arms. She was leaning back into his warmth and tilting her head to the side for him.

Despite everything that had happened, regardless of every terrible situation and devastating discovery they’d endured thus far – he was happy with the way things were, because he had her, and he knew they could make things right.


	30. Chapter Thirty: Severus Snape - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. So before the main plot gets too far and Hermione and Harry get back to Horcrux hunting, I wanted to catch up Snape’s POV and fill out that section. So today we are back to Snape :) who, by the way, is fun to write because he is so snide and bitter. What a delightfully angry man he is…  
> (P.S. sorry it’s so long)  
> 2\. If you’re not interested in Snape’s POV don’t worry – you won’t really miss any main plot by skipping this chapter  
> 3\. If you do read Snape, you will notice a change in canon timeline here. I always struggled (hard) to believe that Dumbledore told Snape in person that a piece of Voldemort’s soul was living in Harry yet somehow Snape did not know about Horcruxes.  
> Snape was an incredibly intelligent character, there is NO way he would have just accepted that information without logically concluding Harry was a Horcruxes. Plus, with the way Dumbledore said it in the novel, it implied that other things had to die before Harry did, thus giving away that there were multiple Horcruxes. Yet, as far as we know in canon, Snape allegedly did NOT know about Horcruxes.  
> Soo yeeeaah, I disagree with that on a fundamental level – so I’ve changed it in this fic.  
> (PS. Dumbledore addresses Voldemort as the Dark Lord in this chapter due to the trace and he refuses to call him You Know Who)  
> 4\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> \- Voldemort casts some nasty crucios  
> \- Sad feels with Snape
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

This chapter, along with all future Snape POV chapters, is dedicated to **FluffyPandaShip**. I could write a standalone novel to explain why you are so important, but simply put, you are the best <3

**_September 1997_ **

“SERVERUS!!”

Phineas practically screamed his name as he entered the Headmaster’s Office. It was late, very late, he had just gotten back from another dreadful night at the Manor and was hoping to slip by the sleeping portraits to his quarters unnoticed so he could pass out on his bed. Apparently, Phineas had other plans, as he appeared positively frantic – yelling and waving his arms to get Snape’s attention.

“What?” His voice wasn’t as sharp as he wanted it to be. Too many nights with no sleep and now he sounded like he was going soft. He would have to watch himself in front of the students, perhaps break out his secret stash of specially brewed Pepperup potion that _didn’t_ make steam pour out of your ears. It was perfect for hiding illnesses and could be used as a quick pick me up to get through the day. Brewing it was challenging and expense though, so he only used it when it was absolutely necessary.

“Hermione has been injured!” Phineas yelled, the fear evident in his voice. He was standing halfway into his portrait, the left half of his face disappeared into the edge of the frame as he bridged the space between this one and the one Granger and Potter kept with them. He was clearly listening to whatever was going on, on their side while he spoke.

 _Well that’s a first_ , Snape thought as he quickened his pace toward the desk. Not only was Phineas typically indifferent about Granger, he was even a bit hostile toward the muggle born witch on occasion. And he had _never_ called her by her given name. Phineas also, along with all other portraits, would not go to such lengths to be in two places at once. Porting between portraits required effort and most paintings could not be bothered with it. They simply wanted to observe the world around them and provide their irritating and unnecessary commentary. Yet here Phineas was, forcing himself between two frames in alarm while he screamed about Granger.

“What do you mean Granger has been injured?” Snape said, the sharpness returning to his tone as he stood before Phineas, brow raised. _This better not be some ridiculous potion brewing accident_ , he thought in annoyance. He had always suspected that Granger brewed potions beyond her capability ever since his supplies were ransacked during their second year and she mysteriously disappeared from class for a month. “What happened?”

Snape had tinkered with some charms over the last week, working to find a way so that Phineas would be able to listen in on Potter and Granger while he was inside the purse where they kept him. Hoping that it might give them a better idea on their location so that he could deliver the sword of Gryffindor – otherwise Dumbledore’s plan was going to crumble before it even got started. He had done something similar in the past, so he did not anticipate it to be an issue, but Granger was clever – apparently _cleverer_ than he had anticipated and she had sealed her purse well. It had taken him the entire week to figure out how to implement the charm and even then, it only worked when the purse was left opened and they were close enough for Phineas to hear them. It was like trying to listen through a closed doorway half the time – but the door was 8 inches of solid lead.

Phineas had told him that her purse was _‘huge’_ and a ‘ _fascinating’_ place to be stored even though he disliked it. He even proclaimed that one time, when they jammed him back into the bag in a hurry, the cover that she kept over him had slipped up a few inches and he was able to peer around. He asserted that he’d seen ‘ _mountains of books_ ’ and _‘endless containers’_ within its depths. At the time Severus had found this difficult to belief and scoffed at the portrait. Phineas was clearly looking for attention and trying to make his task of sitting in the dark waiting for information seem more interesting than it was. If Granger’s purse was as he claimed, then it would have required her to use a complex mobile undetectable extension charm that could be carried through space without the contents inside shifting. He’d only known two other people who had accomplished such a thing to the size that Phineas described – and both of them were dead.

However, much to his annoyance, as his attempts to charm the portrait failed time and time again, he began to wonder if Phineas may not have been exaggerating. Perhaps one day he would be able to examine the purse and see for himself, satisfy his curiosity as it were, but for now they were set-up the best that they could be – short of Phineas trying to convince the pair that he was supporting Dumbledore and was on their side. Snape scoffed at the thought, that would be a wasted effort. Phineas’ hostility toward Granger at the start had lowered his credibility and made the trio question his loyalty. They would never believe anything that he said at this point.

The whole situation gave Snape a headache, it would have been much simpler if Dumbledore had just told Potter that Phineas was an ally – but there was no reasoning with that old man. He was determined to stick to _his_ plan and refused to consult anyone on the details or adjust it as conditions changed.

“I’m not sure – Potter is tending to her now, she – she’s trying to help him.” Phineas’ eyes were glancing back toward the frame as he focused on the noises that only he could hear. His agitation unsettled Snape, he was shaking in his frame and his eyes were creased with worry. Snape had never seen the man look so utterly distraught.

“How serious is it?” Snape said, his tone dropping as he stepped forward toward the frame.

“I can’t tell – Potter is cursing, Hermione is – well she is making the most god-awful sounds Severus – Oh my word, it was a werewolf! Severus, they had to have been attacked by a werewolf!” Phineas’ eyes were wide, and Snape saw him brace himself on the inside of the portrait frame. “She asked for silver and dittany – there’s no other explanation!”

“Where are they?” Snape snapped, his tone deadly serious now. A werewolf attack was not trivial, it was not something that Potter or Granger would know how to treat – they would need assistance. Bite victims were almost exclusively brought to St. Mungo’s for treatment, but that place was out of the question, Potter may as well turn himself directly over to the Dark Lord if he planned to go to St. Mungo’s.

“Severus you cannot go to them, they cannot see you,” Dumbledore urged from his frame. He already knew what Snape was thinking and was shaking his head no. “They must not know your allegiance–“

“So Granger bleeding to death is a better option?!” Snape threw back at Dumbledore, his temper flaring now. This man was so willing to sacrifice others for his _plan_ s and yet often people didn’t even know that they were a part of them. Brilliant and kind as he had become, Dumbledore was a manipulator at heart who glorified his own intentions by claiming he _knew_ that a person was capable of accomplishing what he had set out all along – that he only wanted what was best. It was all too easy for him to ignore any collateral damage along the way. “I’ll obliviate them after if I have to – Phineas, where are they!?”

“I – there’s no way to tell. I hear – I hear water, waves! Waves! They’re near the shore!” Phineas said desperately as he craned his neck to hear better.

“We _live_ on an island – _how_ is that helpful?” Snape spat as he paced in front of the portraits. Losing the idiot Weasley boy had not been a true loss, he did not contribute much to the trio – but if Potter lost Granger he would surely be doomed to fail. Any dunderhead could see that she was the brains of the operation and acted as the sane and logical glue that held the group together. “Have they said anything else, what are they doing – what is Potter doing to _treat_ her?”

“Dittany and silver – she told him to mix in silver with the dittany after he cleaned her wounds. He – he’s trying to give her blood replenisher now, Merlin, that girl – she’s still giving him directions, but she can barely speak.”

“How much blood replenisher?”

“Two bottles.”

“Two bottles?! Fucking Merlin – if Granger used standard sized bottles for her storage –” Snape ran a hand through his hair and dropped it angrily at his side, not bothering to finish his sentence. Phineas and Dumbledore both knew how significant requiring two bottles of blood replenisher was, most wizards would have passed out or died from that much blood loss. “Do you know if the wounds closed, has Potter said _anything_ about the wounds? If they don’t close, she’ll bleed out no matter how much replenisher he pours down her throat.”

“Severus calm down, they will be fine –“ Dumbledore tried to cut in but Snape and the other portrait ignored him.

“He hasn’t said anything – I just hear waves and rustling and – and Hermione’s moaning. Wait – wait – he’s giving her calming draught and then he said he’ll set up the tent. I- I think she might be okay, he said he would help her get cleaned up.”

Snape let out a breath and sat back on the edge of his desk. This was definitely not how he thought his night was going to go, 0 to 60 miles an hour as the muggles would say. He wasn’t even a father – how the hell did he manage to get stuck watching the three most troublesome kids in the entire school outside of the Weasley twins. It was like Potter was a magnet for death, destruction and problems. Why Granger was friends with him he would never understand.

“Keep an eye on them Phineas, let me know if anything changes – and let me know _exactly_ what Potter says – _and_ any remarks he makes on Granger’s health. If she was infected they will need wolfsbane potion so she doesn’t kill him on the next full moon. If you find out where they are – tell me.”

“Understood,” Phineas said before he slipped out of the frame, moving entirely into the one stored in Granger’s purse.

“See,” Dumbledore said calmly. “They can do this on their own Severus, you need to have more faith in their capabilities.”

Snape’s shoulders tensed, his upper body went rigid as he slowly raised his eyes to stare at Dumbledore’s portrait. The old man was looking pleased with himself, completely calm as if unfazed by the last few minutes of intense exchanges. He hated that _knowing_ expression that he always wore – as if he somehow always knew something that everyone else didn’t. It made his skin boil with irritation, it was so irresponsible, so illogical and so fucking narcissistic to never question your own knowledge.

“There’s nothing wrong with having a contingency plan, _Albus_ ,” He said slowly, glaring at the man as he crossed his arms over his chest tightly. “It’s not about faith – it’s about being realistic. They’re still _kids_ in case you’ve forgotten – kids who have never received medical training or basic survival skills. I’ve long since petitioned to have a basic medical course taught as a mandatory weekend event, but no one else seemed to think it was necessary. I’m _happy_ to give credit where credit is due – but Potter gets by with a lot of help from Granger and a fuck ton of _luck_. You cannot expect people to perform when they are under prepared and have huge holes in their knowledge base. It’s irresponsible and it’s how people _die._ ”

“Phineas just said Harry managed to close Hermione’s wounds.” Dumbledore dismissed the comment and stared down his long nose at Snape.

“No – he’s only confirmed that Granger isn’t dead yet.” Snape could feel the final threads of his patience break. “I understand you have your reasons Albus, you always have, and I respect your intelligence enough to know that you _do_ actually have a master plan – but you have got to start being more realistic! You’ve withheld information from Potter for years and now you’ve sent him off on a secret mission vulnerable and unprepared. It’s great you think so highly of his capabilities, but he is still _only_ human. Forgive me for having a vested interest in _ending_ this war – instead of just wanting to join Potter’s fan club blindly so I can watch him in awe while hoping to see him do something spectacular!”

“Harry is _not_ James, Severus,” Dumbledore said wisely, ignoring the scorn that dripped from Snape’s mouth as the corner of his eyes crinkled. “He is capable of more than you give him credit for – you need to stop projecting your hatred and low opinions on the boy, hasn’t it been long enough?”

Snape scowled, Dumbledore _always_ did this. Any time he criticized Potter or remarked on his unremarkable nature as a student Dumbledore would blame Snape for projecting his hatred of James onto the boy. Claiming that Snape refused to see Potter for who he really was or acknowledge his accomplishments – that he only saw James and was actively trying to discredit the boy any chance he got. He wasn’t wrong, at least not usually, but he was wrong in _this_ case. His assessment of Potter’s skills to survive a war now that the Dark Lord was at full strength was accurate – he knew this because he lived it every fucking day, he knew what Potter would be facing. He was tired of Dumbledore using his hatred of Potter’s father as a scape goat for his ridiculous ‘ _master plan’_ schemes.

“Are you saying that you wish me to stand by and let Granger die, or the Weasley boy if something goes wrong? If some how things don’t go to plan, if some how you’re wrong and they get stuck, are you asking me to stand aside and just let it happen?”

Snape stared Dumbledore down, watching as the old man’s brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. He’d forced him into a corner, highlighted the crux of his plan. Dumbledore wanted the trio to complete the mission alone as unaided as possible, but he was clearly not willing to sacrifice any of the kids – at least not yet. He wouldn’t admit to it though, not out loud, that would be admitting a fault in his plan. That would be admitting that there may be a day, somewhere in the not so distant future where he calls on Snape to once again risk his life to save theirs – he was willing to do it, he just wished Dumbledore would own up to it.

“I thought so,” Snape sneered as he pushed himself off the desk to make his way into his quarters.

There was no need to wait in the office for an update from Phineas. He’d charmed a bell in his bedroom to ring when Phineas appeared and had news to share so he would return when he was needed. At this point in time there was nothing else he could do except get some sleep, eat some calories and try to become a functioning human again. He had no idea where they were, so Granger was truly in Potter’s hands now. He hoped, for her sake, that the boy put more effort into aiding her than he did other tasks.

As he reached the door to his private quarters he paused in his tracks and turned back to the portrait. He knew that Dumbledore was angry with him, and that the final comment that flittered to the tip of his tongue would only make him angrier – but he would deal with that later. The old man needed to hear the harsh reality of the situation.

“If that boy doesn’t learn that he needs to take this seriously and start training, they’re both going to die.”

**October 1997**

Snape ducked quickly, the top of his head narrowly missed by the violent firecracker that circled the hallway and continued to explode, sending sparks in every direction while bright colours danced across the walls. It was, undoubtably, a Weasley twin creation. Though how the hell it had been brought into the castle undetected and set off in the hallway just outside the Carrow’s classroom was yet to be determined. His first suspect was that blasted redheaded Weasley girl, his second was the dunderhead Longbottom and his third was Bones – the unsuspecting, innocent in appearance Hufflepuff who seemed to have formed a close bond with the Gryffindor rebels.

“Fuck!” he ducked again, thankful that the hallway was closed and warded so the students wouldn’t be able to see him struggle.

He had tried several counter-spells to disarm the blasted firework already, it was now burning holes in the walls and creating green smoke that smelled a lot like burnt hair. None of them had worked thus far, though his biggest issue was that he could hardly step out from the small alcove he was currently squished in to get a decent shot at the bloody thing. There were plenty of options involving dark magic that would have ended this in an instant – but that would only result in endless lectures from Dumbledore about casting something evil on Hogwarts grounds. He rolled his eyes at the thought, though he was smart enough to know dark magic on school grounds could damage the castle or leave lingering effects. So, begrudgingly, he was stuck battling the firecracker with only _clean_ magic.

Wordlessly he cast another _immobulus_ around the corner of his hiding spot, hitting the firecracker directly in its center. It dropped to the ground with a heavy thud – but Snape knew better than to think the battle was over. He’d already hit it three times and each time the thing would roar back to life with a vengeance after fifteen seconds and continue sputtering around the hall. This time though, he was prepared.

 _Hit me once with your sparks – shame on you,_ Snape thought as he ignored the aching burn on his shoulder, quickly shrinking the firework down to the size of a bowtruckle and casting a protective barrier between himself and the cursed creation. _Hit me twice – well fuck, shame on me then. It won’t fucking happen again!_

Pulling a bottle charmed to be unbreakable out from his pocket he cast a second _immobulus_ on the device before he used his wand to stuff the firecracker inside the bottle, sealing the jar tightly. He had briefly considered letting the firecracker outside, simply because he did not want to deal with it – though that would only result in more damage to the school and injured students. He stared at the jar in his hand, counting the seconds as the thick green smoke around him finally started to settle low to the ground. His grip tightened and sure enough when he reached fifteen seconds the miniature firecracker roared back to life and began bouncing around inside the bottle, rapidly filling the space with brightly coloured sparks and green smoke.

 _No matter_ , he thought inwardly as he let the tight breath in his chest out. _It can explode all it wants in there – it’ll burn out eventually_.

Pocketing the bottle with his left hand he ignored the pain from the burn on his shoulder and flicked his wand with his right hand. The singe marks around the hallway disappeared and the green smoke vanished. It took him several more minutes to put the armour suits back in order before he finally removed the wards and left the hallway. He didn’t bother removing the stink of burnt hair, he left it lingering for the Carrows – they could sit in the stench until it naturally aired out. Using a glamour he covered up the injury on his left shoulder, the students absolutely could not know that any of their attempts to _help_ had been successful and he did not have time to properly heal it. He needed to get to the Great Hall before dinner ended. He needed to once again _try_ to cast fear into the hearts of these suicidal students before one of the Carrows granted their wish and killed them on spot.

He arrived there quickly, fixing his face with a stern scowl before he laid his hands on the entrance. Yet as he burst through the doors to the Great Hall, his cloak swirling dramatically behind him as the room fell silent and students hurried to look down at their plates, he caught the eye of the triumphant red head and her _friends_. She glared at him boldly, a smirk etched on her face as Longbottom winked – WINKED. Of all the displays of rebellion he had seen thus far _that_ was a first, and as he made his way to the head table he began to seriously doubt his ability to keep them alive.

**November 1997**

“Any news Phineas?” Snape asked, entering his office and making for his desk. He had a long night of brewing ahead of him for the Dark Lord, but as always, if Potter and Granger’s location was known he would make delivering the sword a priority.

“Unfortunately not Severus, they’re still being incredibly careful not to say anything about their locations – though it seems that they did spend the day training.”

“Again?” Snape looked up from his desk, his brow arched curiously. Potter and Granger had allegedly started to _train_ sometime in October – he had no idea what it entailed and frankly he had suspected that it would become something of an unkept New Year’s resolution that dwindled off after only a few short days. “I thought you said they trained yesterday?”

“They did,” Phineas said with a smile. “It seems that Hermione and Potter train most days.”

“Hn,” Snape flicked his eyes down to his paperwork once more. He would never get everything done what with the demands from the Dark Lord – this job was bullshit. He sighed and looked over to Dumbledore who seemed to have a wary expression.

“Have they mentioned the Weasley boy?” Dumbledore asked Phineas, his jaw somewhat tight.

“No – in fact I would say that they never mention _him_.” Phineas replied with a sniff, turning his nose up. He was never shy to make his opinion of someone known and it was obvious that he did not think highly of the redheaded dunderhead. Though his opinion on the matter wasn’t shocking.

What was curious though, was how Phineas had nonchalantly started addressing Granger _only_ by her given name since her injury. Snape had assumed that he made the slip in the heat of the moment, while he was riddled with panic and concern. Yet each day since he continued to address her on a first name basis and Snape started to suspect that the wizard may have even grown fond of the witch over the last few weeks.

“I see,” Dumbledore pushed his glasses up his nose and sighed deeply. “I had expected the boy to return by now – though I’m afraid, for him to return, Harry and Hermione must be – in a way – _hopeful_ of his return for it to work.”

“And this,” Snape muttered under his breath as he turned a page over. “Is _exactly_ why it’s a good idea to have contingency plans in case conditions change.”

He did not miss the scowl that Dumbledore gave him from the corner of his eye.

**December 1997**

“Severus what do you know about the werewolves and their involvement with _you know who?_ ”

Snape sighed, it was like he could feel the question rattle down his weary spine as he closed the door to the Headmaster’s Office behind him and warded it. He was tired, hungry, sleep deprived and drenched in cold water from the latest _gift_ the students had left outside his office. _Where to even start with that question_ , he thought as he stripped off his soaking frock coat and dropped it on the hook near the fire. Of course, the water was charmed so that it could not be vanished away, and no drying charm would work – he’d already tried two before he even opened the door to his office. A part of him was starting to wonder if the other professors might be assisting the band of Gryffindor rebels by teaching them advanced magic on the side.

“What happened?” He ground out, making his way over to the portrait and stopping to grab a headache curing potion from the small left-hand drawer of his desk. The dull thudding at the back of his head would become nauseating if he did not act quickly.

“Hermione and Potter were attacked again and –“

“Again!?” Snape practically choked on the potion as he blurted out the words while trying to swallow. It was a bad combination and it left him coughing and hacking while Dumbledore muttered for him to breath and relax. “What the fuck happened this time?”

“They’re okay! Sorry – I should have led with that bit,” Phineas shrugged sheepishly in his frame.

“You think?” Snape muttered as he collapsed into his chair and flicked his finger to increase the fire. A shiver was running down his spine, but he refused to allow his body to tremble. He could only imagine the luck the duo had happened upon to escape a second werewolf attack largely unscathed. It was miracle enough that Granger had avoided becoming one in September.

“My apologies Severus – anyways, they were attacked, though it seems that Potter received only minor injuries. Though, it raises the question – what in Merlin’s beard is going on? Hermione and Potter are not the only ones running into the creatures, why Tilda mentioned to us just yesterday that there have been attacks in Birmingham on going for a while – but no one is doing anything about it.”

Snape flicked his eyes over to the sleeping witch in the portrait across the room from Phineas as he set the now empty potion bottle on his desk. He wasn’t surprised that Tilda had some information on the events ongoing in Birmingham – it was even possible that she had more information than he did, but she’d never share it.

“The werewolves have joined forces with _you know who_ ,” Snape leaned back in his chair and refocused his eyes to Phineas. “They joined a while ago – what you’re talking about is probably linked to the on-going _secret_ project that the Dark Lord assigned to Bellatrix.”

“Oh,” Phineas’ face fell, and Dumbledore sighed disheartenedly next to him.

“As you both clearly know,” Snape continued as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves. “Bellatrix does _not_ trust me – so she has never told me anything about the project. The only information I have is from what I can gather covertly on my own or from what Narcissa can tell me when we have the chance to speak privately at the Manor. Which isn’t often. The only thing I _do_ know is that the growing werewolf numbers are linked to the attacks – my guess is, they are collecting people to grow an army, possibly completing the infection in a lab type environment to allow for a higher success rate. Which just means that Potter and Granger better keep up their training – the world will only grow more dangerous in the months to come.”

“If snatchers weren’t bad enough already,” Phineas sighed.

“Severus we may need to find a way for you to address the werewolf issue,” Dumbledore said gently, and Snape could not help but roll his eyes. “We cannot let it get out of hand or we will not be able counter their forces when the time comes.”

“Yes, but we both know Bellatrix isn’t someone I can work information out of – to get what we need I’d have to find another way in.” Snape clenched his jaw as Dumbledore nodded at his words. “Right – I’ll just add it to the list of things to do then, right next to delivering the sword, brewing the potions and saving the damn world.”

“Severus it cannot be helped, you’re the only one who can gain access to the information unnoticed and _you_ agreed to this. You gave me your word. Right now I fear the situation may be even more dire than we anticipate, and if we do not move astutely, we may risk many innocent lives and failure of our cause.” Dumbledore’s tone was kind, Snape knew he meant well but it did not stop the flare of anger that swept through his body. He didn’t want to hear Dumbledore get on his soap box and preach, the cold from his soaking wet clothes was eating into his body and he desperately wanted to warm up.

“I’m aware,” he exhaled and closed his eyes briefly before he pushed himself up from his chair. He was done for the night, he wanted to go peel off his layers of clothes and take a warm shower. The draft in the castle was terrible in December and the heat from the fire wasn’t helping him any.

“Oh, there was something else I uh, well I thought you might be interested to know.” Phineas’ words were quiet, almost hesitant, as if he had contemplated saying them at all. They stopped Snape in his tracks on the way to his quarters and made him turn back around to face the portrait.

“What?” the irritation rang out in his voice, but Phineas knew him well enough to know he was also curious. Otherwise he would not have stopped in his retreat to solitude.

“It appears that Potter taught Hermione your spell.”

“Which spell?” Snape was only aware of Potter knowing the one, but nothing would surprise him anymore. He could hardly fathom Granger agreeing to learn _sectumsempra_ or that they were capable of using it – so perhaps the little cheat had managed to steal some of his other more useful spells before leaving the school this past June.

“ _Sectumsempra_ ,” Phineas said slowly, his eyes cautiously watching Snape for any reaction. “It would seem that they both experienced their first kills tonight.”

Snape saw Dumbledore’s eyes go wide in the corner of his vision, the old man’s mouth had opened briefly before he managed to clench it shut again. It wasn’t something in the realm of possibilities that Dumbledore had considered, he’d never even imagined Potter or Granger being capable of doing something like that – and if Snape was being honest, neither had he. He stood still on spot, water dripping from his robes onto the floor and creating a small puddle as he stared at Phineas, completely void of any physical reaction until he cleared his throat once.

“I see – continue to keep an eye on them Phineas, let me know if they handle it poorly.” He turned on his heel and pushed his way through the door to his quarters, locking it securely behind him.

He cut across the floor quickly, undoing the buttons down the front of his shirt and peeling the cold, fabric from his skin. It tried to cling to him as he removed it and his body moved on autopilot as his mind raced internally. Potter had taught Granger _sectumsempra_ , not only had he taught it to her theoretically – but she had allegedly learned how to use it effectively and so had the boy. His brain struggled to accept the information, it profoundly differed from his current understanding on the pair’s abilities. It _was_ possible that Phineas was embellishing again.

He paused to remove his boots and peeled off his over saturated socks, he was no longer aware of the cold that riddled his body as he made his way to the bathroom. Tapping the shower head with his wand hot water immediately began to pour out as steam clouded the room, though not before he saw his reflection in the mirror. His marked and scarred body stared back at him briefly before he tore his eyes away from his battered frame and shucked off his pants, stepping into the shower stall as the last corners of the room grew heavy with steam

A weird feeling began creeping through him as he stood under the water. He had always been of the opinion that Potter needed to step up his game, that he needed to take the war seriously and that if he didn’t start doing what _had_ to be done, he wouldn’t make it. Yet as the words ‘ _Potter and Granger killed people_ ’ ran through his head he found his brain unable to form an image of the scenario and unwilling to accept the new data. It was impossible for him to imagine Potter being capable of such a thing – the boy had the anger sure, but his skill was always lacking. Whereas Granger – she had the skill but not the stone heart required to go through with it.

They were, and would probably always be, just kids in his mind. Though he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that children were inherently innocent, the Dark Lord himself was a prime example of how false that notion was. Still, he never imaged the duo taking the step into the ‘ _grey area’_. The area that so many witches and wizards avoided. The one that made people uncomfortable and scared, the one that made them question their morality. Everyone always assumed that killing another human or an intelligent being was pure evil – that only a monster could do it, but they were wrong. It was so much more complicated than that.

He inhaled deeply and let the warmth seep into his bones. Clearly this war was going to be one that contained many surprises.

-x-x-

Severus woke to the gentle ring of the bell that sat next to his bed, he’d only been asleep for a few hours. Tonight, being Christmas Eve, had been a rare evening with no calls from the Dark Lord and no traps lingering outside his quarters – since the majority of the students had returned home for the holidays. So, after attending the Christmas Eve dinner with his fellow professors and the approximate twenty remaining students he had retreated quickly to his quarters and slammed the door shut behind him. Falling gratefully onto his bed and passing out quicker than a blink.

He planned to take full advantage of the quiet and rest during the break while restocking his potion stores. He’d been using more Pepperup and Headache Cure than he had anticipated at the start of the year, it had become at minimum a weekly requirement just to get by. It figured, what with the bell ringing loudly now, that the goal had been a pipe dream – Phineas and the duo would see to it that he did not gain a night of rest during the break. Pulling himself from bed begrudgingly he moved soundlessly to the door, summoning his robe from the hook on the wall wordlessly and pulling it on before he moved into the Headmaster’s Office.

“What is it Phineas,” He flicked his wand and lit the fireplace, ignoring the groans he got from the portraits who had been sleeping and now squinted angrily at the source of light.

“They’re on the move!” Phineas said quickly, he was once again straddling the portrait frames and listening to the other side.

“They move, _constantly_ ,” Snape scowled at him and then pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. “Hence the difficulty in delivering the sword – why is this any different?”

“Because they used Polyjuice potion to disguise themselves before they went – I heard them talk about it, they must be going somewhere more public. I’m sure I’ll find out where in just a moment since they were chatting quite a bit more than usual about their plans tonight. I thought you might want to get ready with the sword.”

“Right,” Snape sighed, as he turned back to his quarters. They couldn’t delay things and if the opportunity came, he needed to be ready to deliver the sword. “I’ll go change.”

He was back in less than a minute, dressed warmly in his normal white shirt, black waistcoat, trousers and charmed dragon hide boots. He’d thrown on his frock coat for if and when Phineas gave the signal, but for now he sat at his desk working through mountains of paperwork with the sword of Gryffindor settled next to him as he waited. Phineas had returned to Potter’s portrait and Dumbledore was, for once, kind enough to pretend to be asleep while Snape worked and watched the minutes tick by. He began to doubt that the opportunity would present itself tonight when Phineas suddenly appeared in his portrait once more.

“SEVERUS! _You know who_ , he almost got them they went to Godric’s Hollow –“

Snape groaned in pain and grabbed at his forearm tightly, the dark mark was burning into his skin more viciously than the night that the Dark Lord had first returned.

“FUCK!” he yelled, as the pain grew to be excruciating. He grabbed the sword and ripped Dumbledore’s portrait back so he could hide it securely. He felt his stomach start to roll as his knees quaked, it felt like a white-hot iron was being shoved into multiple points on his body.

“Severus!” The concern in Dumbledore’s voice was startling. Snape barely managed to swing him back in place and see the fear in his eyes before he apparated away.

He landed hard in the snow outside the Malfoy’s gate, collapsing to his knees momentarily as the pain seeped up into the base of his neck. It took all his concentration to pull himself from the ground and make his way down the drive toward the Manor. He barely registered the crumpled figure that lay on the floor of the Manor before him when he barged through the doors and made for the staircase. It was Lucius, he was crippled over in agony and gripping his arm to his chest as a thin trail of blood dribbled from his mouth. The idiot must have bitten his tongue from the pain of the Dark Lord’s call and due to his weakened state of health he was unable to pull himself up from the ground. Snape groaned outwardly and clenched his jaw, grabbing Lucius by the scruff of the neck and hauling him from the ground.

“Get up you fool – do you want to die and leave your wife and son here alone?” the words were vicious and cruel. Snape spat them against his ear as he half dragged the man up the stairs toward the second-floor dining room. Lucius was a coward, a bigot and a moron – but his wife and son didn’t deserve to be left alone living with the mess he had created because _he_ had made bad choices.

He could hear the voices of a few others as they approached, and he quickly wiped the blood from Lucius’ jaw with the cuff of his sleeve before he pulled them through the door. Narcissa was standing next to Draco, gripping her son tightly and holding the wall for support. Bellatrix looked to be enjoying the agony while she glanced around anxiously, waiting for the Dark Lord to appear. Peter, who was crumpled in the corner, was the only other to have arrived since he essentially lived at the Manor, though more would be coming. Snape could already hear Yaxley and Greyback making their way up the stairs behind them. He pushed Lucius over toward his wife and made to stand off to the side as his fellow Death Eaters trickled into the room. Before he could turn back to Lucius the Dark Lord appeared in the center of the room.

“WHERE WERE DOLOHOV’S MEN!” Voldemort’s scream was wretched and the flinch around the room was visible. Red eyes circled, looking for the man in question. Dolohov was just coming in through the door and had stumbled against its frame at the force of the Dark Lord’s appearance.

“My Lo-“ Dolohov collapsed to the ground, screams ripping through his throat as Voldemort turned his wand on him to cast a brutal _crucio_. The sound reverberated through Snape’s body and he saw Draco flinch inward to his mother from the corner of his eye.

Despite the horrible sounds, for a moment, relief washed over the faces around him. They were monsters, all of them, because they were desperately thankful for the Dark Lord’s direct attention on Dolohov. For it meant a brief reprieve from the agony that shot from their arms. The Dark Lord had never been good at controlling his rage, if he picked a direct target, they would receive the brunt of it. He ignored the guilt he felt over hoping Dolohov’s torture lasted as long as possible to spare him and the Malfoys so they could breathe but for a minute.

“Where were your men, Dolohov?” Voldemort said again, approaching the now drooling form that remained laying on the ground.

“My Lord,” Dolohov panted, his eyes half lidded as he tried to pull himself from the ground. “They were in the village – they were positioned at the perimeter –“

“But they served no purpose there, did they?” Voldemort spat, his red eyes burning into the man with disgust. “They didn’t even notice that Potter had arrived in Godric’s Hollow this evening – If not for Nagini, we wouldn’t have known. You were to implement an anti-apparition ward around the house, yet somehow – Potter managed to disapparate _just_ as I arrived!”

Dolohov dissolved into screams again as Voldemort cast a second _crucio_ and stood watching the man as his limbs spasmed in pain on the ground. When the torture finally ended the agony that radiated out from the dark mark returned at full force.

Yaxley was now leaning against the wall of the dining room for support. Peter had fainted long ago on the ground in the corner while Bellatrix remained upright, clutching her arm as her signature disturbed smile lingered on her lips. Snape forced his body to remain ridged even though he could taste bile at the back of his throat, and it felt as though someone was replacing his blood with acid.

“Yaxley,” Voldemort said, his red demon eyes turning to the man to his right.

“Yes my Lord?” Yaxley stepped forward stiffly, his right knee buckling. A twitch had formed at the corner of his mouth and his eyes were squinted in pain.

“Find someone better suited to serve as your right-hand man. The next time I make a request and it isn’t followed through – _you_ will be the one held accountable.”

“Yes my Lord.”

“I want wards set up around Hogsmeade – I want to know if _anyone_ comes and goes. Increase all patrols, double your men at St. Mungo’s and get more snatchers on the streets of _every_ wizarding town!”

“Yes, my Lord right away,” Yaxley bowed his head. His entire body trembling now.

“Potter is using Polyjuice, so that means they’re using potion ingredients. Narcissa!” Voldemort turned to the woman who had shifted quickly in front of her son. “Lock down the final apothecaries – I’m done playing games with these fools. Kill them if they won’t cooperate.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she spoke through clenched teeth and was barely able to nod her head.

The agony from the mark had started to cause muscles spasms and Snape could feel his spine stiffen. The second he could no longer feel his legs he doubled his occlumency efforts to lessen the effects of the pain.

“And someone clean this garbage off the floor!” Voldemort screamed before he disapparated with a final blow through the mark.

Yaxley collapsed against the wall, Lucius fell to his wife’s feet, Bellatrix gasped in a bizarre sort of pleasure and Greybeard fell into the chair beside him as his eyes rolled back. Snape was fairly certain he heard Draco throw up and Narcissa fall against the wall – while he himself felt the hot blood that encircled his fingers from where his nails had cut into his skin. The room was quiet except the heavy breathing and Draco’s whimpers. It would be several long minutes before anyone else dared try to move.

-x-x-

“Severus are you alright?” Dumbledore and Phineas’ voices rang out when he apparated into the office and stumbled against the door to his quarters.

“Fine,” he grit out through bared teeth as he forced his hand to open the door before him. It was his final barrier until he could release his occlumency and allow his body to react to what had happened – he fell through the opening, collapsing to his knees just inside and throwing the door shut with his magic. He began to pant, his body shaking uncontrollably as his knees gave way and his form crumpled completely to the floor.

Once Snape had given himself a full minute to breathe at the Manor, he forced his limbs to respond to his commands, moving his legs and making his way over Dolohov’s unconscious body and down the stairs until he pushed out into the cold. Even then he had not allowed himself to react to the agony. His body moved mechanically, he used his last remaining strength to continue his hold on the modified occlumency he used to withstand torture so he could get to the gate of the Manor.

It was something he had developed over years of working as a double agent, something he created based on his muggle knowledge of human biology and the body’s nervous system. Using his magic, he was able to block the signals from his pain receptors from being detected in his brain, and to a certain extent he was able to stop feeling all together. It had allowed him to better withhold information and withstand questioning – though he was only able to do it for so long. Thus, the secret was to withstand the pain as long as physically possible and only use the technique when he was at risk of breaking his cover, needed to leave the situation as quickly as possible or didn’t want to show any weakness before his _companions_.

Hence tonight, he was the first to leave the Manor while his _companions_ would remain there in agony for a significant while longer. By now the other Death Eaters would have only just started to drag themselves around the dining room – still unable to move and likely crying out in agony as their muscles seized. They would be desperate to remove themselves and seek solitude so they could whimper and cry shamelessly – but most of them wouldn’t be able to.

The memory of the night felt like an ancient one now, he was unable to make his limbs hold his weight to pry himself from the floor, so he rolled onto his back with a groan. He was about to face the severe consequences of his own invention. The modified occlumency only delayed the brain’s detection of the pain – it did _not_ eliminate it. The damage to his muscle tissue had still occurred and the signals had still been sent. While worth it in the moment the after effects would be about three times worse than if he had just allowed himself to feel the pain at the time. But he had no interest in rolling about on the floor of the Manor with the rest of them, watching silent tears roll down Narcissa’s face as Draco fainted from the pain. He much preferred to retreat to the castle, to drink his calming draught, his dreamless sleep potion and pass out for hours until he awoke stiff and miserable as always.

His hand trembled toward the pocket on his cloak, it was stocked with miniaturized potions incase of an emergency. He usually had blood replenisher, dittany, and headache cure among other things – this was not the first time he’d been in such a condition. He grabbed a bottle of calming draught and returned it to full size wordlessly, biting the stopper and spitting it out on the ground. His hand shook violently as he raised it to his lips, a steady stream of hot tears pouring involuntarily from his left eye as his body reacted in overdrive to the agony he had delayed. He forced himself to swallow the liquid and then he began to count, backwards from fifty, that’s how long it would take until the potion kicked in and eased his burning nerves. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply in and out as his limbs continued to shake and his skin burned as if set on fire.

-x-x-

The gentle ring of the bell echoed through his subconscious. He made to move his hand to tap it so the ringing would stop but his arm was like lead, dead and unmoving at his side. His chest felt heavy and for a moment his brain concluded that he must finally be dead – that was at least, until the dull ache of his muscles began to radiate through his body and he recalled the events of the evening before. A deep ragged groan escaped his lips and he hauled himself up, slapping the small bell silent.

“Why couldn’t I just _be_ dead,” He breathed and ran his hands over his face.

After the calming draught had kicked in the night before he managed to drag himself into bed and drink two other potions before blacking out. Now he forced his aching and torn muscles to move toward the door as his head started to throb.

“What?!” He wrenched the door to the office open roughly and leaned against the frame, not bothering to move any further than necessary.

“Severus,” Phineas said slowly, he sounded hesitant and Snape could see that his eyes were tracing over his form.

A low growl came from the back of his throat as he rolled his eyes. He was perfectly well aware he looked like shit – and he did _not_ want any fucking pity.

“I’m already up, let’s not waste it – _what_ now?”

“I told you we should have waited Dumbledore,” Phineas muttered before clearing his throat. “It’s Hermione and Potter – I know where they are, they’re in the Forest of Dean.”

Snape’s eyes widened and he pushed himself from the door frame to hobble into the office. “Are you sure?”

“Yes Severus – positive. They’ve mentioned it twice now, Hermione used to camp there as a child, so they were talking about it. It doesn’t seem like they will be moving any time soon – perhaps you can bring them the sword.”

“The Forest of Dean is rather large,” Snape said slowly as he sank into his desk chair and grabbed a headache curing potion from the lower drawer. “Do you have any idea where?”

“No,” Phineas frowned and he looked rather sympathetic. It made Snape uncomfortable to see such an expression on his face, so he scowled back in return. “Unfortunately, I don’t.”

“Alright,” Snape averted his eyes and downed the potion. “I’ll start looking for them today – keep an eye to make sure that they do not move locations. I’ll check in with you as I search – just give me a moment to change.”

“Severus perhaps you should rest first –“ Phineas started but Snape cut him off.

“I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

He pushed himself up from the chair and hobbled back to his quarters, closing the door and making for his private potion store that he kept in the large wardrobe by his bed. Grabbing several unique bottles, he made his way to the bathroom and downed them, grimacing at the taste and turning on the shower. Nothing ever beat natural healing – or a trip to Madam Pomfrey, but right now a bunch of his own healing potions would do the trick. They would get his body functioning so he could go traipsing around a massive forest looking for a needle in a haystack. Snape snorted, first, he wanted a hot shower.

He emerged from his room twenty minutes later, dressed and armed with a collection of special potions of his own creation, his limbs once again moving fluidly like a well-oiled machine. When he returned from the Manor it was late into the night and he’d passed out for the majority of Christmas day – the sad humour was not lost on him that he had spent Christmas, traditionally a day to be with friends and family, alone in agony.

 _No matter_ , he thought. It was better to search the forest during the night anyways. It would lessen the chance of an encounter with a muggle partaking in ridiculous snow activities. He gathered the sword from Dumbledore’s portrait before apparating into the cold darkness. He started on the Eastern side, planning to work his way through the middle and then move North. He apparated, cast detection spells, walked several feet and then repeated the process. It was slow, and by the time first light crept through the trees he was feeling tired, hungry and annoyed.

He apparated back to the castle around 9:00am to confirm with Phineas that the duo had not moved location, ate a quick breakfast, glared at Dumbledore and then returned to the woods. It wasn’t until he reached a particularly off the beaten track area in the North, late into the second night that he stumbled upon something interesting. It was faint, incredibly faint, and had he not been strolling deliberately slow while casting both human _and_ ward detection spells he would have missed it, but it was there. The faint trace of a ward registered about 200 feet away on his left. Casting a disillusionment, he crept forward, his ears strained against the quiet of the forest while he approached. What he found, left him speechless.

It wasn’t a traditional ward – it did not block people from entering or act to befuddle so as to keep unwanted humans away without them realizing it. It was _barely_ detectable. Only someone skilled in casting a ward detection spell or trained to observe for them would have noticed it. He stayed several feet back from the invisible wall, tracing his wand near it as he examined it. A small smile curled at the corner of his mouth without him realizing it.

“It’s an alarm,” he murmured. Not so different from the one he used on his own chambers and modified to create the bell for Phineas. It was designed to alert the caster if someone crossed it, to give warning of approach. He cast a second detection spell and was unsurprised at the findings. “Clever girl.”

There was another ward beyond this, possibly even a third. Granger, or at least he assumed that it was Granger because he doubted that Potter had come up with the idea, had cast a layered alarm system around their location to give them time to escape if anyone approached.

He frowned. It would be impossible for him to cross, if he did, he would trigger the alarm and they would be gone before he got anywhere close to them. He didn’t want to alert them – he just needed to somehow get their attention so that they could retrieve the sword. To make matters worse, the sword had to be obtained in an act of heroism or it would disappear from their possession. Even if he could apparate right in front of them, which he doubted was possible – if Granger was casting these types of spells she would have warded her location to be undetectable, he couldn’t just leave the sword at their feet and say ‘ _here you go!’_.

“Fucking bullshit plan,” he groaned as he ran a hand through his hair. Everything Dumbledore had a hand in was more complicated than necessary. He moved along the ward, examining the landscape and looking for a way to make his task possible. It wasn’t until he recalled the pond he had passed on his way toward the ward that an idea struck him. “Well I suppose it’s not the worst idea in the world.”

Making his way back to the pond he walked out onto its center, cut a hole in the ice and examined the depth of the water. It needed to be deep enough to force Potter to fully submerge himself and struggle slightly to get the sword.

 _It needs to be dangerous – but not too dangerous,_ he snorted at the thought. His urge to be sarcastic about the ridiculousness of his situation getting the best of him as he dropped the sword in. _Just almost kill him, but don’t totally kill him – just enough to really let his courage shine through, like how Dumbledore would want. Merlin this is fucking absurd_.

Once he had finished setting the sword, he froze the ice back into place and vanished his footsteps from the snow. As stupid as the whole thing seemed he _was_ pleased with how it turned out. You could just see the glint of the sword through the ice and it would be impossible to miss it against the barren landscape. Now, all he had to do was implement the final step and hope that Potter took the bait.

-x-x-

His patronus approached the first ward cautiously, brushing against it with a sort of curiosity that he still, to this day had not managed to understand. While a patronus was not a sentient being, they certainly had the odd behaviour that might lead you to think it so once you learned the extent to which you could use them. Her form was beautiful, gentle, and her eyes appeared filled with emotion that he knew was not there. It made his heart ache as he watched it and he clenched his jaw to push the thoughts of Lily back down into the black depths of his heart.

He hated casting it. He _never_ cast it in front of anyone and he would never cast it again if he could help it. Had he cared about himself more, he might find it upsetting that his _only_ happy thoughts were of a dead woman. A woman he had loved desperately, foolishly and completely unrequited since he was eleven years old. Instead it just made him feel pathetic and it caused a dull ache in his chest. He scoffed, his life was a sad joke.

The doe gently pushed forward through the ward, moving carefully inward to the North. He knew it would do as directed, it would approach Potter and Granger and gather their attention, then lead them back to the pond. If they didn’t follow – then he would just have to try again, but for now he moved back toward the pond. There he stood, faced with yet a second problem that needed to be resolved rather quickly. There was no way in hell he was letting that sword out of his sight until Potter or Granger grasped it firmly in their hands and he was confident the task was complete. However, he was keenly aware that there was no way for him to stay within line of sight without Granger detecting him based on the wards he’d examined.

He needed to hide, he needed to ensure that he did not register on any detection spells cast during their approach, and there was only one way to do it. His nose scrunched in disgust as he pulled the bottle from his cloak and returned it to full size. It was a horrible concoction he had discovered by accident while working on a project for Dumbledore years back. The potion made it feel like there was a block of ice sitting in your gut while your body was frozen from the inside out, it slowed your heartbeat to a dangerously low level and changed your physical and magical signatures so much you didn’t register as anything more than a mouse. The downside was that it made you unable to move quickly or do much of anything until it wore off – this made sense considering that the potion nearly killed you, keeping your body barely functional. He continued to frown in anticipation as he pulled a second small bottle from his coat. This beast, would skyrocket your heartrate and send your adrenal glands into overdrive. It felt very similar to being hit in the chest with a giant hammer and it would counter the effects of the first potion.

It was a dangerous game to play, using potions to alter your body rapidly between two extreme states. One of these days his heart would give out and he would surely die from the abuse he’d put his body through – it was only fair. Magic may be magic, but you can’t toy with yourself in the extremes that he had without consequence – unless you were prepared to follow the Dark Lords footsteps and lose yourself completely in the process. Since he wasn’t, it was only a matter of time until the damage was permanent, though he doubted it mattered. The war would kill him before he had to deal with the tremors, the kidney failure or the sensory damage – so he opened the first bottle and swallowed the contents.

The cold wind blew across his face as he waited, it had been many long minutes and he had yet to see his doe return. He could hear his own heart thudding agonizingly slow in his chest and the cold that consumed his body was insufferable. His body would be shivering if it was capable of such a thing, but right now the most he could manage was to lean against the oak tree on his left while sitting in the snow disillusioned. He held the second potion loosely in his hand, ready to counteract the effects and step in or return home when the time came. He was just starting to consider giving up when he caught a glimpse of silver against the darkness and his breath stilled in the air.

_Just how many wards did they have?_

He watched quietly as Potter and Granger followed behind his patronus, they stopped to cast what he could only assume was a detection spell before they cautiously moved to the edge to the pond. Their ungloved hands were clasped tightly together, and Granger held her wand up to shine light over the ice. They were both looking toward the cleared spot where the doe had stood only moments ago. He noted that Potter seemed to be wandless, which was odd, that the pair moved as if they were a single unit and that they both seemed healthy enough despite their multiple runs with the werewolves.

It was curious though, watching them move while they thought they were alone. Seeing their eyes dart around – fierce and wary with each step more cautious than the last. He could hear them muttering when they reached the center and Potter pulled the girl toward the ice.

They moved logically, which was mildly surprising, Snape watched as they worked their way through the problem until they reached the inevitably conclusion that they would need to enter the water. He suspected that Harry would dive right in, bold and courageous, not hesitating for a second while his ape brain moved into true Gryffindor form. His brow furrowed in confusion when he heard them mutter in discussion and then Granger proceeded to remove her coat. Potter looked about to stop her before she spoke to him sternly and he pulled her into a tight hug. It was not what he had expected – yet it was nothing compared to what came next.

Snape had barely begun to wrap his head around the idea of Potter _allowing_ Granger to go into the water instead of himself when his eyes widened at the display before him. Granger had just _kissed_ Potter – and Potter was now kissing her back. His mind reeled in confusion, slowed by the effects of the potion. He was unable to process the data properly. He thought Potter was with the annoying redhead, that Granger was with the idiot redhead, and for the first time in possibly his entire life he felt dumfounded.

He truly didn’t give a shit about who Potter snogged or who Potter wanted. He could care less. Frankly _any_ information on Potter’s love life was disturbing to him and made him massively uncomfortable. What startled him was the heartfelt goodbye they gave each other, it caught him off guard, and made him feel like a dirty old professor peeping on his students. He felt like he was missing some vital piece of information and was intruding on the situation completely unprepared. He averted his eyes the second Granger reached to remove her pants, while it was the logical thing to do before submerging oneself in freezing water, he did not wish to see it. He didn’t look back until he had heard the splash from Granger enter the water.

Then it was just him and Potter. He scowled as he watched the boy, he was poised over the entrance to the pond intently waiting for Granger to return. Each second clocked by at an agonizingly slow rate.

 _What the hell is taking her so long?_ Snape sneered internally as he watched Potter’s form.

The pond wasn’t that deep, he had placed the sword there because it would have been reasonably challenging to get, not because it would be _impossible_. The hardest part about the task was enduring the cold, not the depth. After another minute ticked by Snape found himself uncorking the bottle he had been holding in his hand, something was wrong, he could feel it.

“FUCK!”

Potter’s voice rang out through the forest and he waved Granger’s wand at the ice hole while Snape downed the second potion in a single gulp. He clutched at his chest in agony as his eyes shot wide and his heart began to accelerate painfully against the effects of the first potion. It felt like someone had just broken every single one of his ribs with a hammer. He clenched his jaw to stop the groan that threatened to escape him as he stumbled forward from the tree and made his way toward the pond. Potter had ripped off his jacket and glasses and dove headfirst into the pond – leaving the wand behind on the ice.

“What the fuck happened?” Snape ground out, taking advantage of the duo being underwater to groan in agony while the adrenaline pumped through his body. His hands shook violently, he pulled his wand from his arm holster and positioned himself behind the nearest tree – prepared to step in and pull them both from the water when suddenly Potter shot from the surface, landing hard on the ice with a deep thud.

Potter fought with something wound tight around Granger’s neck. He squinted his eyes to see it, it didn’t make any sense, he had checked the pond to ensure there were no Grindylows or other dangerous creatures before placing the sword. Yet Potter could not get the item off and instead tore the sword from her frozen grip and threw it across the ice.

 _What the fuck!_ Snape was about to stun the boy to stop the crazed behaviour and take over when Potter pointed his wand at the girl’s chest and cast a heart restarting charm. Granger shot back to life and for the second time that day Snape felt like he was missing something, something massively important, and he was the only one in the vicinity that didn’t understand what was going on.

Snape pulled back toward the tree, wand still raised, heart pounding and brow furrowed in confusion as the scene continued to play out in front of him.

He should have left the second Granger rose from the dead, but he froze on spot when he heard Harry speak. His heart started to beat in his ears at the word that he heard, his hand trembled as the air shifted and Granger stood holding the sword firmly in her hands – preparing to strike the small locket which Potter held. His blood ran cold as the Dark Lord’s voice rang out into the night, his eyes shot wide and fear gripped his heart. He stumbled backward into a bush as a wave of air pulsed out across the pond when the locket was shattered – Granger’s scream of defiance ringing in his ears.

The information he had been missing hit him hard as a bludger. Snape saw the pieces fall into place,, understanding now what Dumbledore had been hiding – he heard the word echo in his head as the ever-burning flame that fueled his anger exploded with blind rage.

He disapparated the second Potter had pulled Granger into his arms in triumph.

-x-x-

“YOU SENT POTTER AND GRANGER TO DESTROY HORCRUXES ON THEIR OWN?! – ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE!” Snape launched himself at Dumbledore’s portrait the second he appeared in the office and slammed his hands against the walls on either side of the frame. His brain didn’t even registered the gasps and fearful looks that came from the surrounding portraits.

“How did you – Severus, what did you do?!”

“What did I do? WHAT DID I DO?! What have _you_ done! How long have you known this – how long have you kept this a secret?!” Snape bellowed in Dumbledore’s face. He was breathing heavily from the potion he had taken in the forest and his anger was shaking his entire body. For the first time ever, he wished that Dumbledore would return to life _just_ so that he could kill him all over again. 

“Severus calm down –“

“Do you even care what those things might do to them? Do you know the lingering effects of being exposed to them? – What they’re capable of! One almost _drown_ Granger in a pond tonight!”

“Severus, look there’s a reason why –“

“You’re unbelievable you know that!” Severus pushed himself away from the wall and paced in a circle, willing his heart to calm down before it exploded in his chest or he punched a hole in Dumbledore’s portrait. They were both very real possibilities, he was flooded with more adrenaline than his body could handle and his emotions were manic. He ran both hands over his face as he shook his head. “How many?”

“There is a reason I didn’t want you to have this information Severus, if the Dark Lord finds out that you know –“

“HOW MANY?!” He came to stand before the portrait again, his chest heaving as his eyes dared Dumbledore to ignore his question once more.

“Seven,” Dumbledore said quietly, his face both angry and sad. Disgust lingered in the corner of his eyes – he’d always disagreed with Snape using the potions he’d created, unless of course, _he_ directed it.

“Seven,” Snape uttered in disbelief, falling back against his desk and gripping the edges tightly. “Fucking hell, Albus – how could you be so irresponsible, you have people waging a war that they can _never_ win. He’ll never die until they’re _all_ destroyed.”

“You’ve taken that stuff again haven’t you,” Dumbledore sniffed, his eyes sliding over Snape’s dilated pupils and down to the tremor in his hands. “You know that messing around with those potions is going to kill you one of these days – if you don’t keep your heart rate down you won’t make it through the night! So, calm yourself Severus!”

“My fate was sealed years ago – don’t lecture me, you even gave it your stamp of approval for Merlin’s sake,” Snape glared back at him. “Stop trying to change the subject – how many Horcruxes are left?”

Dumbledore paused tightening his jaw before he begrudgingly responded. “Did they destroy the locket?”

“ _Yes_ ,” He answered sharply. “And for the record that’s what I did – I gave them the damn sword as you requested but Granger nearly died retrieving it because the _locket_ tried to drown her. I stayed to make sure they both lived – they destroyed it immediately after, before I was able to leave.”

“Well then there are four remaining.”

“It’s why they need the sword,” Snape shook his head, still struggling to digest everything. The effects of the potion were finally starting to slow and he could feel his heart rate decreasing. “What are they?”

“We don’t know,” Dumbledore said soberly. “Harry and I retrieved the locket the same night as the astronomy tower. We were never able to finish locating the remaining objects and that is the task I have left to Harry. He has, of course, enlisted the help of Hermione and Ron.”

“So they have been wandering around for the last six months, _alone_ , trying to find the remaining Horcruxes and the sword – I suppose it explains why the Weasley brat tried to steal it. But for fuck’s sake Albus – they have nothing to go on, no support –”

“They are more capable than you think Severus, they _will_ find the remaining Horcruxes.” Dumbledore sighed and took a long pause. “Severus there is something I must ask of you – something I debated asking you long ago before I died.”

“You mean before I killed you,” Snape said bitterly, his eyes circling back to Dumbledore’s.

“It was a request I made of you Severus and you spared me from a long and slow death – for that, I am and will forever be, grateful to you.” Dumbledore spoke sternly and Snape turned his eyes away. He couldn’t stomach the look that Dumbledore was giving him. “I knew if I told you what I must ask of you now – that you would discover the Dark Lord’s secret and you would have realized that he had made Horcruxes. I suppose… that since you now know, it is as good a time as any. Severus, there is something that Harry must do, but not until the time in which the Dark Lord is most weakened – when he is fearing for his life, once all six Horcruxes have been destroyed.”

“Six?” Snape arched a brow in confusion, looking toward Dumbledore once more. “You said there were seven.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said sadly, and he pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “When the Dark Lord tried to kill him, and Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the killing curse rebounded on the Dark Lord, and a fragment of his soul blasted apart from the whole and latched itself onto the only living soul left in the collapsed building.”

Snape felt his jaw go slack as the gears in his head clicked into place – already piecing together what Dumbledore was avoiding saying bluntly.

“That piece of his soul lives on in Harry, Severus, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes – the connection between their minds which he has never understood.”

“Potter is the seventh Horcrux,” the words fell from Snape’s lips as a whisper. “So the boy… the boy must die?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said slowly, nodding his head. “And the Dark Lord himself _must_ be the one to do it, Severus, that is essential.”

“You want _me_ to tell him he must _die_ ,” Snape’s mouth was still ajar. “I thought – all this time… that we were protecting him for her. For Lily.”

“We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength,” Dumbledore had shut his eyes tight as he spoke, and he wore a very pained expression. “Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth: sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death he is prepared. You’ll recall before I died, I told you that I would have one final favour to ask after my passing, when the time was right – this was it Severus. You must tell the boy that he must die.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Snape breathed, a tightness forming in his chest. “You’ve kept him alive so that he could die at the right moment – you’ve raised him like a _pig_ for slaughter.”

“It is what is necessary. Don’t act shocked Severus, how many people have you watched die or killed yourself over the years?”

“Recently? Only the ones required per your plan,” Snape bit back, pushing away from his desk. “I knew you were using me, I knew it from the moment I declared my loyalty to you and began this double life but I did it anyways. I knew you used people, like tools until they were no longer useful, and then you throw them away – but I never expected you’d stoop so low as to use a _child_. Growing him into exactly what you needed, patiently waiting until it was time to send him off to the butchers!”

“Don’t tell me you’ve come to care for the boy Severus?” Dumbledore looked rather surprised and a bit hopeful. “After all these years of tormenting him so.”

“Care for _him_?” Snape spat his hand trembling as he raised his wand and cast the one spell he had sworn earlier that day he never wanted to repeat. “ _Expecto patronum!_ ”

The silver doe burst forward from his wand once more, prancing delicately around the office until she faded away from view. His chest constricted and he felt a pull through his heart that he had not experienced in years. His throat closed shut as the weight of the world collapsed in on him.

“After all this time?” Dumbledore’s soft voice cut through his thoughts and his eyes flashed from the doe’s last location back to the frame. Snape’s eyes hardened.

“Always.”

He moved across the office and pushed through the door to his quarters, slamming it so hard behind him the walls rattled throughout. He warded it, silenced it and then let a ragged cry split from his lips as he grabbed the nearest object to him and hurled it into the wall, dropping to his knees as it shattered. The last time such a violent wave of emotion had wreaked havoc over his body was the night that Lily had died – and tonight it felt like he was losing her all over again. That his entire life had not only been a long compilation of failures, but that it was a lie too.

He didn’t care about the Potter boy, he had never _cared_ about the boy, but everything he had done, every breath he had taken since he pledged himself to help Dumbledore had been to keep him _safe_ in her memory. He was to protect her son, for her, because Potter was the last living piece of her left. Because it was what she had done in her last moments. Because he owed it to her for what he had done. Regardless of how much he despised the boy he never wished him dead, he never wished him harm – though he did wish that he wasn’t such an annoying little twat. More than anything though, he wished that Lily was alive and that he had died in her place. He should have. He yearned to go back in time and correct the worst mistake of his life, the moment he had unknowingly betrayed the woman he loved and condemned a family of innocent people to death.

It had taken years for him to learn, to understand how truly horrible he was. How selfish he was, how undeserving he was of her or her love. He had long since accepted that they would have never worked. It was a fantasy, nothing more – and for all her perfection she was flawed too. It took losing the love of his life for him to become a _better_ person, for him to become someone whom she _may_ have tolerated. It took sentencing countless innocent people to death and still many years after that for him to learn he was wrong – and that he had been wrong about many things.

So he continued to love her, he continued to hold himself accountable for his actions and swore to dedicate his life to her in payment for his failure as a human being. Ensuring Harry’s safety was the one minuscule positive impact he could make in the world. The tiny secret legacy that he could leave behind, for her – so that when he did die, he knew he hadn’t been a complete monster.

And now, after everything, Dumbledore had taken it all away from him, he’d taken it away from Lily.


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Back to H&H this chapter! I finished it early (Thank you FluffyPandaShip for making me work hard <3) so here you go!  
> Also, thank you for reading Snape :) I was so pleased to get so many positive comments on his POV, I’m really glad that you liked his chapter! I always felt his character deserved the chance to be explored further explaining the details of why he is the way he is. I also always wondered what he was truly thinking, so I was happy to take a stab at it!  
> 2.Prepare for smut!  
> 3\. Sooooo….. I sort of did a thing in this chapter. SURPRISE!!  
> 4\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and holy heck!! I can’t believe the kudos you humans are leaving, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3 truly and dearly, each and every one of you.
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.  
> WARNINGS:  
> \- smut in this chapter
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

{Thank you **SnowMione18** for reminding me to include more romance… I tend to get caught up in plot things and was working to flesh out details and set things up for what is about to go down. I hadn’t yet managed to get back to their relationship building in the way I wanted because it didn’t seem to fit. But it does now }

Hermione’s eyes fluttered opened, her nose was nuzzled into Harry’s chest, right next to the scar left by the locket and she could hear his even breath ghosting across the top of her head. She had woken once already, per her usual routine, trembling and looking around wildly with her wand raised. The familiar flash of green light and dead eyes haunted her mind pulling her awake with fear. Though thankfully, over the last two weeks her reaction to the dreams had improved, slightly, and she was able to return to sleep much quicker each night – turning over to face Harry and curling into his strong arms. For the moment it seemed that Harry was still deep asleep, so she moved a little closer, relaxing in his warmth, breathing in his scent and enjoying the feel of their limbs being tangled together. She felt calm, laying there in his arms, or at least as calm as she figured was possible until the war was over.

She tilted her head back a few inches to look at his face. He looked peaceful and a small smile tugged at her lips. It had become such a rare occurrence for him to look so calm, so relaxed. Over the last 8 months his resting face had become so serious and thoughtful, and his boyish innocent charm, while still there deep underneath the surface, was no longer prominently displayed on his face. She only ever caught glimpses of it when they were both wrapped in bed, huddled with blankets – it was a testament to the strength of their bond. Harry felt _safe_ with her, he trusted her, he would let down his guard around her and she would do the same. They had become inseparable, possibly even codependent but not in a detrimental or pathetic way. She pressed her nose back into his chest and relished the warmth against the cold which had quickly claimed her skin from the seconds apart.

So far, she had hardly allowed herself to entertain the idea of what would come after the war – there was no point in thinking about it. With everything going on around them, with their constant battle just to _survive_ she had no time to worry or fantasize about what life after the war might be like. Aside from the odd wandering thought of ‘ _how will I adapt?’_ or, ‘ _will I return to school?’_ and the occasional, ‘ _I don’t feel safe around people, I don’t want to talk to them… so how will I deal with that?’_ she had all but buried the ideas and thoughts into a neat and tidy little box at the back of her mind. It sat in the same place where she had buried her feelings for Ron after he left – the only difference was she had resolved Ron’s box much more quickly and it was now completely gone from her head. Over and done with – efficient, because in the case of her feelings towards Ron the answer was easy. She didn’t have any feelings for him anymore. They had died quickly after his absence, once she had time to clear her head as she healed from the werewolf wound and started to think clearly, objectively. She realized that he was not the man that she _wanted_ him to be and that her attraction to him was little more than an infatuation based on childish hopes and it wasn’t grounded on any particular solid reason. Thinking of it now, she almost laughed at the idea of ever finding him attractive in any way shape or form.

This box though, was heavy, large and made her feel anxious.

She had never been an overly social person to start with, similar to Harry the friends she made at Hogwarts were the first true friends she had ever had. She loved her friends, she wished the best for them and she desperately wanted them to be safe. When they first left the Burrow she had missed them terribly and wished that there was some way to see them – but as the months clocked by she found herself becoming more and more reclusive, secretive, suspicious and hardened. She was folding inward on herself and Harry and if truth be told she was absolutely terrified to see their peers and friends again.

Firstly, because danger followed her and Harry like a shadow, everywhere, constantly, and she did not want to endanger their friends. She would not be able to handle it if something awful befell Ginny, Neville, Luna or anyone else from the gang because she and Harry showed up and inevitably brought death alongside them. Secondly, and this was the part that concerned her most – she had _no_ idea what to say to them. Or _how_ to say anything to them. While she and Harry did speak, frequently and to an excessive amount when planning or practicing, an immense amount of their communication had become non-verbal. Harry understood her, he _knew_ her, and she knew him. She didn’t need to say a lot of things and yet she _knew_ that he would get it. When it came to the idea of speaking with anyone else or having a _normal_ conversation it just made her anxiety spike. She was out of practice, they both were, it was obvious just by looking at them that they were no longer typical teens, they no longer fit into a normal world – though frankly, she wondered if they ever had.

She knew that their friends who remained at Hogwarts were fighting on their own front, waging war in any way that they could and facing their own perils – but they still had each other. They still had the normalcy of being at _school_ , with other students and professors and owls and post with parents to fall back on and it provided them with some semblance of structure. It was so hugely different from what she and Harry had been experiencing and she worried that Harry and her had become too detached, that they wouldn’t react well to large crowds or rejoining the world. It would be a process, a long hard process where she already knew it was highly unlikely she would ever feel safe enough to sleep without him around.

She sighed, this thought was the only one she had allowed herself to mull over while she laid in bed next to Harry each night, stealing his heat and tracing her fingers along his skin. She placed a kiss gently to Harry’s collar bone, slowly moving her mouth along his neck, down his jaw and to the corner of his mouth. Stubble had grown in along his jaw, making the skin feel rough against her lips. She hadn’t brought up what would happen to the two of them when everything was over because deep down, she knew they would stay together. It was all in the non-verbal communication they shared, it was in the way he looked at her, the way his hand lingered on hers and in how she looked to him and watched his movements. The idea of existing without him in a large world filled with other people that she may or may not have to interact with was just out of the realm of possibilities – they would be together. She kissed the corner of his mouth. Her thoughts and feelings for Harry weren’t out of possessiveness or neediness, it wasn’t clingy or desperate – it was out of mutual respect, love and appreciation for him. She was more confident in this fact than she was that her heart would take its next beat.

“Mmmm,” a low hum came from Harry’s chest as she kissed him, she saw the corner of his lips twitch a fraction upwards. The sound vibrated deeply against her and sent a small shiver down her spine.

She kissed him again when he slid his leg forward, pushing it between her thighs until it rested snugly against her center.

“Good morning,” he murmured, eyes still closed. He was clearly enjoying the light peppering of Hermione’s lips across his skin as he wrapped his hands more tightly around her.

“Good morning,” she whispered back to him and laced a hand around his back up into his wild hair. She breathed lightly against his lips before a question flittered to her tongue from her earlier thoughts. “Harry?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, eyes still shut. He had started to trace small circles into the small of her back. Lightly working away at her stiff muscles as he waited for her to continue.

“When this is all over – assuming we don’t die that is –“

“Of course,” Harry nodded a fraction. There was no humor in his voice, he wasn’t mocking her or being rude with his acknowledgement. They were both comfortable mentioning the possibility of death even though they both vehemently refused to let the other die.

“You’ll stay with me, right?” Harry’s eyes snapped open the second her question left her lips and she was met with bright green in the dim morning light. Her eyes darted between his, gauging the intensity at which he was watching her, and her fist tightened unconsciously in his hair. “Like this? I can’t even wrap my head around what’s to come but – we’ll stay together, right?”

“Always,” His voice was firm but gentle and his brow furrowed at the question. It was clear he had never brought up the topic either since to him the answer was obvious. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing really,” she said honestly as she slid her leg over his, moving her body closer to him before she gave him a sad smile. “I was just thinking about Hogwarts – everyone there and what it might be like to see them again and I just thought, well – I can’t imagine sleeping without you, or how on earth we are supposed to go back to how things were before.”

His eyes softened as he looked at her, a thousand unspoken words passing between them before he pulled her closer to him, kissing her deeply. He’d thought of it too, of course he had. His hand on her back slid up her side to rest firmly on her ribs and she felt her body tremble with anticipation under his touch. She pressed herself more firmly against the thigh that was between her legs. She loved the feel of him against her skin, she loved that he always made her relax under his touch – that he understood what she meant, what she needed, and he was willing to give her the closeness and reassurance she was craving.

“Hermione,” he breathed against her lips as he pulled his head back to look at her. “Things will never go back to the way they were – but, where ever we go, whatever happens after – we’ll going to stay just like _this_.”

Hermione smiled at him before she moved forward to capture his lips once more. Something about the warmth of being under the heavy blankets that separated them from the freezing tent air filled her with a sense of need and she quickly found herself drowning under Harrys lips. She panted against him as he rolled her over on to her back and pressed his thigh harder against her center. The weight of his body on top of hers made her heart flutter in her chest as she gripped at his shoulders and tried to pull him impossibly closer. Her hips arched up into him as a small groan escaped his lips and he gently bit hers, his tongue tracing over her swollen bottom lip as he gripped her small frame tightly.

Their location or skill with magic wasn’t the only thing that had changed since Birmingham – their physical relationship had. Ever since Harry fucked her on the rug in living room, when they had both been pent up, angsty and aggressively adamant to refuse defeat things between them had changed. There was a distinct shift from gentle and tentative to heavy, hot, urgent and occasionally rough. Perhaps it was the desperation they both felt as they continued to relentlessly train, plan their next moves and awaited news on the werewolf den that was seeping out into their sexual activities. Perhaps it was just a natural progression in any relationship, or maybe it was tied to the shift in their demeanor as a result of the war. Either way, she regularly found herself grabbing at him roughly as his hand knotted in her hair and they both gasped for breath. She had no complaints. She liked it, it made her feel alive, and like she still had some sort of control over her life in this disaster – maybe that’s what it was, it was their way of being free from the war.

She moaned as Harry pushed down into her and dug her finger nails into the skin of his shoulders as his lips moved along her neck. She could feel his hardness through their pajama bottoms, and she needed more, she needed to satisfy the deep craving that had stirred in her core the moment Harry kissed her deeply. She moved her hands down his frame, grabbing at the band of his pants and pushing them down. He leaned to the side on his elbow, his lips never leaving her skin as he took over and started to remove his pants. She followed suit, working quickly to shuck off her bottoms and tossed them to the ground near her purse.

“Harry,” she groaned as she felt his stiff member between her legs and resisted the urge to pull him inside of her. She wanted to try something different, something she’d heard the girls mention at school, she pushed against his shoulder and forced him to roll over onto his back.

She moved with him, straddling his legs and sitting on top of him, grinding herself against him as she rested her hands flat on his chest. Their eyes met, his were half shut, lustful with the faintest hint of feral desire. He wanted her, she could see it, she could feel it in the way his hands gripped her hips and it made her shudder as she moved her hips against him. It was a new feeling, something very equivalent to power or control, and she found that she _liked_ it. His hands tightened on her hips as he pulled her down further and moved with her motions. She could see him fighting the urge to push himself between her slick folds as he watched her move – waiting for her to continue the lead she had so clearly claimed. He was captivated, his left hand slid up her side, pushing up her tank top as a low hiss escaped his lips.

“Fuck Hermione,” he groaned, his hips pushing up into hers. She briefly removed her hands from his chest to pull her tank off over her head, completely unfazed that she was now straddling him naked – baring her body and her scars to him fully in the morning light. She had come a long way from being insecure about her looks and she watched as Harry’s gaze traced over her skin with hunger until he met her eyes again. “You are so fucking beautiful Hermione – uungghhh I want you.”

Her lip twitched into a faint smirk before she bit her bottom lip. She had never been on top, and she was amazed at how natural it felt, how easy it was for her hips to move over his. She reached down between them and gently grabbed him, aligning him with her entrance before she began to lower herself. Her eyes fluttered closed at the feeling. She wasn’t sure if it was something that she would ever not get chills from as her body shuddered and adjusted to his length. It was tight, it was always tight, but yet he slid into her easily from the wetness that had been building between her legs. She heard him groan and she peered down through the bottom of her lashes at him, an almost painful expression of pleasure was struck across his face as he stilled his hips, resisting the urge to thrust up into her hard.

“Fuck Harry,” she breathed, dropping her head so her forehead rested against his. She felt so full as she rocked her hips gently, gripping his shoulder more tightly. “I love the way you feel”

“Ungghh,” Harry groaned and pulled her lips down to his quickly as he pushed his hips up into her. He devoured her and she let him, willingly opening her mouth and moaning as his tongue traced over her teeth.

Their movements grew quicker, deeper, rougher with each motion and soon Hermione was panting over top of him, her hands clutching at his chest desperately as deep moans poured from her lips. Harry was panting beneath her, his nails digging into her skin as he thrust his hips up with each roll of her hips, hitting the glorious bundle of nerves deep within her – causing her head to roll back as expletives rolled nonsensically from her lips.

“Fuck Harry, fuck Harry, Harry – oh my god – right there, Merlin don’t stop pushing up!” sweat had started to form on her back as she continued to rock her hips back and forth. She pushed her hair back from her face, it was swinging wildly with their motion and she let her fingers trail slowly down her front, a daze consuming her body as the sensations quivering through her grew exponentially.

“Shit Hermione – I’m going to come. Fuck! Don’t stop, I want you to come – I want you to ride my cock until you come.” Harry’s deep baritone reverberated through her. It sent a chill of immense pleasure down her spine all the way to her toes as her mouth fell open and her head lolled back.

She’d never heard such dirty words leave his mouth before, but she found no embarrassment with it – only a deep wave of carnal lust and arousal that made any rational thought vacant the premise of her mind as she rocked her hips harder and more nonsense poured from her lips. She had never, not _ever_ , felt the coil wind so impossibly tight at her center. She felt drunk with bliss, her heart racing. It felt was as if she had lost control of her body and her mind and she moved on pure instinct and need only.

A deep low guttural moan escaped her lips as white blinded her vision and she came harder than she ever had in her life. Her whole body shuddered, her back curved, her eyes screwed shut, her body glistened with sweat as she rocked herself against Harry in jerky motions. She felt him come apart underneath her, she heard a deep growl escape his chest as he gipped her like death and thrust himself harder into her.

Her brain had stopped working, it was official, she was down for the count and she felt like she could not breath. Waves of pleasure rolled through her body as Harry pulled her down against his chest, kissing her fiercely as they both continued to grind against one another, drawing out the almost unbearable bliss from their orgasms as she collapsed against his chest entirely. They stayed that way for several minutes, Harry kissing her languidly as his hands lazily trailed circles across her skin. She felt like she was melting into his body as she moved her lips against his until she finally felt him soften within her. Their lips fell apart slowly, both of them panting and looking at each other with hazed, sex-addled stares.

“I love you Hermione,” the words were soft and puffed out against her face as he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. A drunken smile splayed across her face as she rubbed her thumb over his arm.

“I love you Harry.”

“You want breakfast?” He was still breathless, she could see his chest rise and fall as a smile lingered on his lips.

“Mm – shower first,” was all she could manage to say. Her heart was still racing, she was covered in a sheen of sweat and her body felt shaky from the unfamiliar motions of _riding_ Harry.

“Yes – definitely, good idea.”

They slowly pulled themselves from bed, Hermione vanishing the after effects of Harry’s orgasm from her body so as not to make a mess before she summoned some fresh clothes from her purse which laid partially open on the floor from when she had summoned an extra blanket in the night. They both made their way to the bathroom and cranked the heat on the water, showering quickly before they started their day.

“So, I’m thinking we should make a plan to go to Xenophilius’ in the next week or two,” Hermione said as she scooped a spoonful of oatmeal and paused before taking a bite. “I just finished bottling the last of the calming draught we could brew and – well, we are completely out of ingredients except for some odds and ends.”

Harry nodded, picking up his already finished bowl and bringing it over to the sink. They both knew that obtaining any more ingredients was out of the question – the apothecaries had been officially locked down by the Death Eaters. Arthur had advised them to avoid any wizarding cities at all costs. If they needed anything else specifically, they would need to arrange a drop with Arthur, but that would only put the man at risk both for purchasing the ingredients himself and for completing the drop. They hypothetically had more than enough blood replenisher, calming draught, dittany, antivenom, pepperup and a variety of other potions to make it through the war. Though, in Hermione’s opinion, a million bottled potions still wouldn’t make her feel prepared – albeit nothing would.

“I agree,” Harry said, taking a seat across from her again after cleaning his bowl and waiting for her to finish eating. “I want to run a few more spells with the wand from Evan first – but I was thinking we could go toward the end of March. We can get a few more practice rounds in and plan out a way in.”

Hermione nodded, chewing her oatmeal thoughtfully as she started making plans in her head. Evan’s wand had proved to be most interesting. While it was fantastic to have two wands again – his seemed peculiar in its functionality. The wand blatantly refused to cast a _bombarda_ yet seemed to have a particular affinity to _sectumsempra_. It disliked _alohomora_ , producing nothing but red sparks out the tip when they tried it and yet seemed fond of summoning charms. Despite their best efforts, and even an arithmancy calculation she’d attempted over the last two weeks to try and predict what the wand would reject – they were unable to predict its finicky yet consistent behaviour. Thus, they had been left with the only reliable option of testing each and every spell that they knew while they kept a mental list. Thankfully, Harry and herself did not require a wand to cast most spells anymore, including a _bombarda_. But having a semi-functional wand was always better than having no wand and it was good to know what they could use the thing for.

“There were a few other medical spells I wanted to run through as well,” Hermione said as she finished her breakfast and pushed herself up from the table. It was odd, despite their extensive workout routines and training she somehow always felt stiff and had sore muscles after sex with Harry. She assumed the activities must use very different muscles groups… or that their activities had indeed escalated more than she realized. “Let’s aim for the 27th as a goal – I’d suggest we use one of the two of our last Polyjuice transformations for the visit, but I suspect Xenophilius will need to know that it is us. I doubt he would invite strangers in. So, we are going to be stuck walking a decent ways to his house.”

“Yes, I had thought about that,” Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair and propping his chin up on his folded hands. “Luna had mentioned that her mother set up some sort of bizarre anti-apparition ward around the perimeter, so we will have to apparate nearer to the Burrow and then walk in. It will be risky – I have no doubt that the Lovegood’s are being watched after what the Quibbler ran.”

“I know,” Hermione said grimly as she stretched her arms above her head in preparation for what always came after breakfast, their workout routine and intense rounds of dodging and throwing mild hexes at each other in the snow. “We can disillusion, shield and cloak our way in. If something happens inside though we are fucked – we can’t apparate within 200m of their house.”

“We will just have to remain disillusioned, refresh our shields – no one will be expecting that – and then run like hell.”

“Yeah – once again I’m left wondering if the world has something against us – or that maybe someone is secretly routing for _you know who_ – because sometimes it just feels like everything is against us.”

“No kidding,” Harry snorted as he pulled himself up from the table and followed Hermione over to the open space in the living room so they could complete their push-ups, crunches and other exercises. His voice took on a somber tone as he continued to voice his thoughts. “Though really – it’s because they’re well organized and prepared. The Ministry and public didn’t want to listen when we had the chance to properly prepare. They dug their heels in and stuck their heads in the sand – and now we are paying the price for their actions, or lack of action I should say. All we had was a small band of dedicated Order Members with minimal direction, and no real funding or resources leading our defenses. _He_ had a whole fucking following that worked tirelessly in the background collecting resources and getting prepared for years. It’s our own fault.”

“It’s _their_ fault,” Hermione corrected as she kneeled on the floor and began her first rep of pushups. “ _You_ warned them – _we_ tried. But we were just kids Harry, you can’t lump yourself in with them and take the blame on this one, at the time we had no idea what was coming.”

“Maybe,” he breathed as he completed his tenth pushup with ease. “Though it hardly matters now. _We_ are still the ones wading through the shit storm.”

“Well – you’re certainly right about that,” Hermione muttered.

-x-x-

The following twelve days passed by quickly, with Hermione and Harry moving campsites only once – to a still farther North location near the edge of the water on a frigid cliff. Every morning they awoke to the cold, hauled themselves from bed and trained all day. They had already repacked her purse and medical kits 3 times, each time making minor changes to allow for better efficiency that could mean the difference between life and death during a battle. They had reviewed her map of Ottery St. Catchpole and the surrounding wizarding communities, devised a plan of entry and selected the best place in which to apparate to Xenophilius’ in a few days’ time. They discussed the possible locations of Horcruxes and unfortunately agreed that at some point they may need to return to Hogwarts after taking the trip to Xenophilius’.

Until then, they spent the majority of their time physically training, running laps, extending their shield charms, practicing the new medical skills Hermione flagged, learning Harry’s new-found liquid nitrogen spell and practicing their dueling. The pattern was so engrained in them that their bodies moved mechanically with no complaint as their movements became more silent, more precise – more deadly. The only thing that changed as the days went by was the quantity of exercises that they were able to complete, the amount of weight they could lift and the number of spells they were able to cast from Evan’s overparticular wand. They had spent over 4 hours the previous day wielding hexes at each other in the tent, neither one of them faltering once from their circle. They gave up only because Harry’s stomach had rumbled, drawing them out from their obsessive state and making them realize that they’d practiced for an hour and a half longer than what they’d intended.

Two days ago, they received an update from Arthur which indicated that he and his team had finally gathered enough information to confirm the pattern of werewolf activity around Birmingham and that Shacklebolt had given his full support to begins plans of an offensive attack. Over the next few weeks the Order would be collecting resources and devising a strategy for entry – one that would ensure a quick in and out mission which resulted in the complete annihilation of the den and the capture, or death, of Arlo. Arthur had personally assured Hermione, he had vowed really, that he would destroy Arlo’s research and burn the place to the ground. The news had caused Hermione’s heart to catch in her chest as a tiny flame of hope sprang alive in her heart. It made it easier to focus on their own task knowing that something was happening within the Order. ‘ _Finally,’_ she had whispered into Harry’s shoulder as she held him close, ‘ _Rose might rest in peace’_.

Today, the weather had begun to warm and while the frozen cliff side was still covered in snow and ice the air was mild and the sun was peeking out through the clouds. In the morning they decided to take advantage of the odd sunny day and venture forth from the tent to train aggressively – agreeing to stop only when the timer sounded, if you got hit you reset and continued. After 3 hours of running around in the snow, slipping on the ice, ducking and dodging and rolling as they hurled spells at one another they were exhausted and neither one of them had landed a single blow despite the fact that they were giving it their all.

Hermione ran and rolled under a silent stunning charm that Harry had cast sans wand, he’d boxed her into a corner against the cliffside and she was cursing her choice to roll left instead of right. She’d done it to avoid a rather nasty looking ice crevasse but now she was running out of places to go and was relying on her circle training to avoid his spells. If he grew any closer though she’d be able to punch him in the face or the ribs – which was something she would do without a second thought in a real battle. Their physical training had not just been for agility while dueling. They’d begun to incorporate anything and everything that they could get their hands on including firming up their punches and reading about some more… unpleasant techniques, such as gouging out your target’s eyes with your thumbs. It hadn’t exactly made for light bedtime reading, but she would rather know how to do it and not need it than find herself in a situation where she was magicless and unable to defend herself.

She glanced rapidly to the rocks behind her, there was no way she would be able to cross around behind him but there was nowhere left to go but up. She saw the spell the instant he’d cast it, a _petrificus totalus_ , and she moved without thinking, not taking even a second to consider if the idea would work. She jumped, high, reaching her hand up to the rocks behind her and casting a silent sticking charm. Harry’s spell hit the rock beneath her, flying through the space where her legs had been only a moment ago as she firmly planted her feet on the wall behind her in one swift motion and pushed forward, removing the sticking charm and launching herself into a roll over top of Harry. She’d barely hit the snow before she threw herself to the right and rolled to face him, avoiding the stunning spell he’d cast as he spun around. She popped up to her knees, wand raised the stunning spell on the tip of her tongue as the timer went off and they both froze.

“Sticking charm?” Harry breathed heavily, reaching out his free hand to pull her up from the ground.

“Yeah,” she panted. “Sort of boxed myself in there – didn’t see anywhere else to go but up.”

“Creative,” he grinned, pushing some lose strands of hair from his face and grinning at her. He’d become accustomed to the motion as tying one’s hair back never seemed to hold up. “I’ll keep that in mind, I hardly think anyone would be expecting that one.”

“Honestly – I’m not even sure I was expecting it.” She laughed and followed him back to the tent.

They ate a quick lunch, scarfing down the food and stretching at the table in preparation for round two. With a rare sunny day like today they would be fools to hide indoors. They both planned to work themselves outside until they had nothing left to give – dueling in the tent just wasn’t the same and it was nice to be able to practice outside without having to limit themselves on duration so they wouldn’t freeze to death. They returned outside after cleaning up the kitchen and began their second round of training. Three hours later Hermione had managed to catch Harry in a leg locker curse a second before the timer went off and now they both sat panting in the snow.

“I had an idea,” Harry said after he drank deeply from the glass of water that Hermione had brought out after their session ended. “We should practice our aim.”

“You want to shoot clay pigeons,” Hermione nodded, knowing precisely where Harry’s train of thought was going.  
“Exactly,” He passed the glass to Hermione and re-tied his hair as she took a long drink. “I thought that maybe we could find something we don’t really need – or I guess, something that we won’t care about if it gets destroyed. Someone can charm it in the air and move it around while the other shoots at it.”

“It’s a good idea Harry,” Hermione said as she pulled herself up from the ground. She outstretched her hand, summoning her purse wordlessly and catching it firmly after it flew through the tent flap directly into her hand. “I’m sure we have something in here that we can use.”

“Alright,” Harry rolled his neck and stood from the ground. He twirled Evan’s wand lightly in his fingers while he watched Hermione peer into her purse. “What do we have in the bag.”

“Well... for clay pigeons,” Hermione muttered as she rummaged around the purse. She figured that either old clothing or pillows may be the best bet. A small, humorous smile tugged at her lips when her eyes circled onto something of a brilliant orange colour. “What about theses?”

Hermione pulled out two brilliant orange Chudley Canon socks and held them up to Harry. The expression on his face was priceless as he snorted and shook his head.

“Fuck I forgot about those horrid things – you know that Ron used to wear those _constantly_ right? Either he had a million pairs, or he just washed them every day.”

Hermione gave Harry a deadpanned look.

“Yes, you’re right – he probably has just that one pair and he _definitely_ wore them all the time _without_ washing them.” Harry said as his nose cringed at the idea. “I can’t believe you’re touching those.”

“Ew – Harry, obviously I washed them before I packed them. I’m not stupid, I knew Ron had a habit of _never_ washing his stuff. Actually,” Hermione said thoughtfully as she charmed the sock to float and raised it in the air. “I washed everyone’s stuff before I packed it.”

“Are you saying that you handled my unmentionables before we were together?” Harry feigned shock and took a step forward to aim his wand at the sock.

“Pfft, please,” Hermione scoffed as she made the sock wriggle around in the air. Harry still managed to hit it on his first try with a stunning charm. “I saw and handled your _unmentionables_ plenty of times before that.”

“Wait, what? When?” Harry glanced at her and landed a second hit on the sock without much effort as it swirled around in the air above him.

“Harry, you arriving in the hospital wing was like – a regular yearly event. And sometimes, when you were passed out, you would turn over in your sleep and your boxers would show if the blanket slipped down. _I_ would pull it back up over you to protect your modesty. Then there were the few times over the years we met in your room and you were literally sitting on your bed in your boxers. And there’s all the times that I helped tidy up around the Burrow and did laundry while you guys were out riding brooms.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry said, a fond smile crossing his face. “I’d forgotten about that. Feels like a lifetime ago doesn’t it. Do you think Ron will be mad if I light his sock on fire?”

“I’m pretty sure that you would be doing him a favour,” she snorted, he was clearly itching to try _incendio_ with Evan’s wand.

Mentally she noted that this was the first time the two of them had spoken outwardly about Ron. She was a bit surprised to realize that it didn’t feel awkward. Months ago, she would have been unsure of how the topic would go down given that Harry _knew_ she briefly fancied him – but now, they were both so comfortable and confident with each other and their relationship that discussing the missing third of the _golden trio_ didn’t feel like anything. It was just another topic. She loved Harry, he knew that, and he also knew that there wasn’t even an inkling of anything remotely close to feelings left in her body for Ron.

“Besides, Ron’s not here so –“ Hermione paused and shrugged. “Worst case _if_ we ever see him again and he asks about the old socks we can replace the stupid things.”

Harry blasted the sock, it ignited brightly at the exact same moment that all of their wards and proximity alarms sounded. Hermione’s head swam at the noise, it sounded like a nuclear alarm blaring in her head. The sensation was overwhelming, and she gritted her teeth in pain as she jumped to Harry’s side. He quickly dispelled the alarms and his hand closed tightly around hers, both of them lowering into a defensive crouch and turning toward the figure that had appeared just to their left. The burning sock crackled, flames blowing in the wind as it floated slowly to the ground.

It didn’t make any sense – _nothing – no one_ – not a damn thing should have been able to apparate at their location. They were undetectable. Hermione’s mind raced as every muscle in her body tensed. They would need to capture the intruder and leave immediately. They needed to know _how_ they had been traced so that they could ensure it didn’t happen again. A stunning spell was just leaving her wand as Harry’s hand tightened around hers and her eyes widened – seeing what he did. At the very last second, she managed to pull her wand up and the spell blasted over the top of the figure’s head, just grazing the fire red hair as the burning Chudley Canon sock floated down before him.

“Bloody hell!! What was that for?!”

Ronald Weasley ducked, it was a delayed reaction and had Hermione not managed to pull her wand up at the last second the spell would have hit him square in the face. She watched as the boy ran a hand through his hair, glancing curiously to the burning sock which was now resting by his feet before he turned his head up toward them.

“Hey,” he said sheepishly, giving them an awkward smile.

_To be continued…_

-x-x-

Sorry for cutting the chapter here…. ;) Please don’t hate me. Things are about to pick up speed now, plot is going to progress, and shit is about to go down on all fronts because everyone and everything is almost exactly where I wanted it to be! So, you might want to grab a helmet to pull on since you already have your seat belt buckled.

Also **P.S.** :

While we ride this steam engine together… jet plane? Nah steam engine is better, think super-fast mag lev train except it’s still steam, because reasons. What other fandoms or pairings do you lovely humans read? I want to write a second fic (I have some ideas) but I was just curious what you might be interested in? I won’t start anything until this beast is done, but you know... I like to _plan_ and _think._

So let me know!


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two: Mr. Weasley - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE EARLY WEDNESDAY <3
> 
> 1\. Please don’t be mad… I know that you all want more H&H given how I ended the last chapter but here is a bonus Mr. Weasley update first! Hopefully since this is an extra Wednesday upload you will forgive me :P I promise H&H are still featured this upcoming Sunday :)  
> 2\. Also, please welcome my new OC… I hope that you like him (or at least tolerate him). If not that’s okay too, I was never a big fan of too many OC characters myself, so I completely understand and please know that I’m trying to limit the ones that I add to this fic to only what is absolutely necessary for plot.  
> 3\. Also p.s. I know some of you want Harry to get a haircut. He will soon, I’ve been holding off on it because it plays into the next few H&H chapters. BUT, I just discovered this artist and holy cow… it is basically the perfect representation of how I have pictured Harry with long hair and looking rugged. The artists name is ‘potterbyblvnk’ so if you want to get an idea of what I was picturing go check out their stuff! [please be kind and do not repost their art. I do not know this person and have not contacted them to say I’m mentioning them here so hopefully that is okay :S maybe I will let them know or remove this later]  
> 4\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> I love you <3
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> \- General disturbing concepts/topics with regards to the werewolf den
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

“Arthur.”

Shacklebolt’s unmistakable deep voice drew his attention as he attempted to balance the collection of bodies that he was currently holding in his arms after apparating into the living room of the Order safe house. He had stood in a daze on the snowy hill for two long seconds more than he should have, his eyes looking into the darkness where Harry and Hermione had once stood before his brain finally snapped back on task and forced his body to move. He’d collected the pieces of the werewolf from the snow and tightly grabbed the unconscious man’s wrist before leaving the frigid cold. The apparition was made a lot easier due to the feather light charm that the pair had cast – but it was still difficult to hold all the pieces in his arms. 

“Kingsley,” Arthur breathed. Snow falling from his hat onto the ground as the werewolf’s head slipped from under his elbow. It dropped to the floor with a thud, rolling through the slush and leaving a dark red trail until Shacklebolt jumped forward and grabbed it. “Shoot, sorry about that – I’ll clean that up.”

“What the – how did this happen?” Shacklebolt asked as he eyed the trail of blood that now covered the floor. He lifted the head before him and narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Who killed it?”

“No idea,” Mr. Weasley lied. He knew. Or at least he _strongly_ suspected that he knew exactly who killed it. But he thought it was best not to dwell on the details at the moment given the situation. There were more important things to attend to. “I didn’t even see them – they made the drop quickly per protocol and disapparated. Though, I think that’s best, no? Sometimes the less information we have the better, especially when their safety is critical for success – we know that Dumbledore left them with a secret mission.”

“True, though if we did know a little bit more _,_ we might be able to help them out. It worries me that they are out there on their own with everything that is going on. They could have been injured running into a creature like this… but there isn’t much we can do if we don’t know where they are.” Shacklebolt said slowly as he vanished the blood from the floor with a wave of his wand. He was the only other person that knew Harry and Hermione were involved in the incident, though his knowledge was limited to only what Mr. Weasley had disclosed. Everyone else would be under the impression that Thomas from the Ministry had discovered the scene and dispatched the beast – and Thomas would maintain that story as well. He took a deep breath before he continued. “We’ve got a room set up – Nasir is in there now getting everything ready.”

“Thanks,” Mr. Weasley said, motioning to the freshly cleaned floor with his head. He figured that Nasir must be the new legilimens that Shacklebolt had vouched for and he wondered what the man might be like. “What of the werewolf corpse – will Thomas be coming to collect it?”

“Yes – he should be here momentarily. A quick in and out – I told him that we would leave the body here in the living room so he can pick it up.”

“Of course,” Mr. Weasley said as he easily carried the weightless furry body into the center of the room and placed it next to the head that Shacklebolt had set down.

Only very few personnel had apparition rights into the small northern cottage that acted as a back-up safe house. It was rarely used, mostly because the surrounding area was wild, rugged and dangerous, and the cottage was so small – but it was perfect for an impromptu interrogation. Especially given that the Burrow was being watched and Grimmauld Place was compromised. Mr. Weasley grabbed the unconscious man’s wrist once more and followed Shacklebolt toward the small back room of the cottage. There was no point in waiting for Thomas – he would only be there for a blink while he grabbed the body, time was of the essence and he would need to get it back to the Ministry as quickly as possible.

“Arthur, let me introduce you to Nasir,” Shacklebolt stepped to the side and gestured to the man on his right with a wide arm. “A friend from a previous lifetime of mine, before I was placed in a desk job. He was stationed in Bulgaria in ’94 to keep an eye on Karkaroff and _you know who’s_ followers. He’s been undercover there for the last three years – but after the loss of Dumbledore I worked to pull him out. Good men are hard to find, and Nasir here is one of the best – he trained briefly with Severus in legilimens before going undercover so he is our only resource left.”

Mr. Weasley’s eyes fell on the man that stood before him, his tanned skin, dark eyes and high cheek bones were far more attractive features than what he had been expecting to find based on the introduction Shacklebolt provided. He stood straight as a board, tall, strong, and despite the slightly worn look of the man’s robes they were neatly pressed. He looked young, and it somehow seemed unfitting of a man who had been deep undercover for the last three years in a country notoriously dangerous for its support of the dark arts. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mr. Weasley said, extending his hand and noting the strength he felt in Nasir’s palm as he shook it. “I imagine that getting out of Bulgaria was a task and a half.”

“You could say that,” Shacklebolt chuckled. “But times are dire Arthur and we need reliable men.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Mr. Weasley breathed, aware that Nasir was watching him closely. It felt eerily similar to Snape’s gaze – always watching, piercing, picking up on all the little details that people tried to hide. If Nasir had been successful with a three-year undercover operation in Bulgaria, he was undoubtably talented. And dangerous.

“The pleasure is mine,” Nasir’s voice was rich, the baritone filled the small room. He had a hint of an accent, but it was unplaceable, as if gathered from many years of travelling across the globe. “I understand that you have been instrumental in the fight – that you’ve organized several successful missions thus far.”

“I’m sure that Kingsley has over sold me,” Mr. Weasley smiled politely, silently wondering just what information Shacklebolt had told the man before him. He trusted Shacklebolt, he was discrete and understood the importance of secrecy, but meeting a new person and needing to trust them instantaneously was a difficult task. Their experience had not been the best over the years, and it was a difficult feeling to shake. “So, I assume you were an Auror with Shacklebolt, yes?”

“Not exactly,” Nasir replied smoothly, a small shimmer in his eyes. They lingered on Mr. Weasley’s briefly before they glanced down to the man he was holding. “This must be our guest – you’re looking for some particular memories correct?”

“Yes,” Mr. Weasley’s brow furrowed slightly at the lack of response but he pulled the unconscious man from the ground easily and plopped him in the open chair. “I’ve been told his name is Evan – and we need to know what he knows about a werewolf den in Birmingham.”

“A werewolf den,” Nasir said, arching an unemotional brow at Shacklebolt. It seemed that he had not been informed what he was investigating. “I see. Well I can certainly pull out what’s there – do you want to keep the memories or just have me relay them?”

“Pull them please, if you don’t mind.” Mr. Weasley interjected before Shacklebolt could give an opinion.

“Of course,” Nasir smiled politely, but it didn’t reach his eyes – having clearly picked up on the implication of Mr. Weasley’s response: Shacklebolt trusted him, Mr. Weasley did not.

With a flick of his wand chains bound the unconscious man to the chair and Nasir stepped before him, tapping Evan gently on the head and muttering a silencing spell before he woke their guest. The man’s eyes shot wide and darted around, he opened his mouth, attempting to communicate something but the sound was inaudible from the silencing charm Nasir had cast.

“Good evening Evan,” Nasir’s low deep voice stalled the movements of the man’s mouth and he shuddered in his chair before meeting his eyes. “I’m going to have to ask you to remain still – otherwise I will ensure that you cannot move at all, _permanently_. Do you understand?”

Evan blinked rapidly three times, confusion riddled his face, but he nodded once and settled in his chair.

“Good,” Nasir bent low, grabbing Evan’s jaw and tilting his head upwards before he muttered a single word. “ _Legilimens_.”

Mr. Weasley watched as Evan’s eyes went wide. He jerked once in his chair as Nasir stared unblinkingly into his eyes, combing through weeks of memories and data. It was deadly silent for a single minute, then Nasir exhaled and dropped Evan’s jaw, straightening back to his full height and turning toward Mr. Weasley.

“I’ve located the memories that you’re looking for – but someone has been in there. There is a chunk of time missing after the alley, but it can’t be explained from him being unconscious. It would be unnoticeable to most legilimens as the memory work was well done, but only an expert would know how to extract a chunk of time and hide the loss.” Nasir paused and eyed Mr. Weasley. “What’s most curious though, is that someone has burned the name Rose into this man’s mind. It is… inescapable while you’re in there.”

“Are they capable of that Arthur?” Shacklebolt asked, his face scrunched in concern.

“I’m not sure,” Mr. Weasley hesitated, not liking that Shacklebolt had made mention of a _they_ being involved. He did not want Nasir to be aware of anyone else but Thomas. Besides, something in his gut told him it was best to keep the recent changes he had witnessed in Harry and Hermione secret. It wasn’t a matter of trust – it was a matter of logic. If Harry and Hermione had developed new skills it would be in their best interest to keep that information private so that they could use those skills as an element of surprise in the future. He’d never been a fan of lying, but he also knew that intent was what mattered, and the bigger picture was more important. Shacklebolt would forgive him later if his knowledge of their skills or whereabouts was revealed. “Does it impact the memories we need?”

“No,” Nasir continued to watch him unblinkingly and Mr. Weasley started to feel like the man could tell he was lying. Though thankfully he refrained from commenting on it. “I was simply noting that it was _curious,_ since it seemed to be done with a significant amount of… rage. If you have a flask, I can extract what you need and clean up his mind so he can be released.”

“Here,” Shacklebolt pulled a large glass vial from his cloak and handed it to Nasir.

“If you could,” Mr. Weasley cut in a second before Nasir made to extract the memories. His dark eyes flicked from his wand back to Mr. Weasley’s and he waited for him to make his request. “Ensure that the final memory was the last available one in the alley.”

Nasir nodded and turned back to his work.

A nagging thought pulled at the back of Mr. Weasley’s mind as he watched Nasir raise his wand. Thomas had told him in his initial report that the victim’s name was Rose, it was on the picture ID card that had been in her blood-soaked jacket and it had been what Harry had told him in their communication as well.

 _It can’t be a coincidence_ , Mr. Weasley thought as the ball of nerves that had been growing in his stomach all night from the new information rolled over. _They must have done it – they must have wanted to make sure he would never forget_.

He knew that this Evan man would be killed by the Death Eaters once released, and it would probably happen within the next 24 hours. Yet despite this fact, despite knowing that it ultimately would not make any difference in the grand scheme of things – he could not help but want to ensure that their efforts endured. He wanted the name to remain for the last few hours of this pitiful man’s life the same way that Harry and Hermione clearly had. He clenched his jaw, then before he could think better of it, Mr. Weasley interrupted Nasir again.

“Sorry, and if you could,” Nasir paused once more. His eyes seamlessly flicking back to Mr. Weasley as a single perfect brow arched in question. “Leave the name Rose.”

Nasir stood motionless, his eyes fixed on Mr. Weasley for several long seconds before he responded.

“Arthur, I do not think that it would be possible for Merlin himself to remove that name from this man’s mind.”

-x-x-

Reviewing through the memories that Nasir extracted had been… upsetting. Disturbing. Disheartening. Mr. Weasley did not have the words to describe how the images made him feel but what he did know was precisely where the werewolf den was located. Now, they needed to do something with that information, they needed to make it count and put a stop to the abominable practice and unnecessary deaths of countless muggles. He’d released Evan to his death two hours outside of Birmingham center and then returned home, crawling carefully into bed next to Mrs. Weasley – grabbing just a few hours sleep before waking and returning to work. Had it not been a Sunday they would have stayed and made a plan, but unfortunately maintaining their appearance in the everyday wizarding world was equally as important as any other aspect of the war.

So, he went to work, he did his job. He ignored the comments and cruel requests made by the Death Eaters that had infiltrated the Ministry and kept his head down all while trying to ignore the images that consumed his mind. Shacklebolt had agreed that they needed to shut down the werewolf operation – it would be critical to the success of the war as they would never be able to combat the forces of the army they had been growing. He told Mrs. Weasley about the situation, leaving out Harry and Hermione’s involvement and instead focusing on what would need to be done. He reached out to Lupin, who agreed to meet with Shacklebolt again the following evening to discuss a plan. What he had not been anticipating – was seeing Nasir by Shacklebolt’s right hand side when he arrived.

“Kingsley,” Mr. Weasley said with a nod before looking toward Nasir who was standing both very still and very quietly. “May I have a word?”

“Of course,” Shacklebolt followed Mr. Weasley toward the back room. “Did Remus say he would be coming?”

“Yes, he should be here shortly,” Mr. Weasley maintained his pleasant tone until they were inside the back room and he had shut the door. “You didn’t say that you were bringing Nasir back again – I thought he would only be assisting with the memory collection portion of this?”

Shacklebolt exhaled and shook his head. “Arthur, you know we don’t have enough people for this – we were barely keeping up with things before, and now we have to find a way to disband a werewolf operation! We need more people if we are to be successful.”

“How did you meet him?” Mr. Weasley asked, his voice flat and his eyes serious. “Never, not once throughout the entire duration that I’ve known you have you ever mentioned the man – forgive me for seeming skeptical, I don’t mean to question your judgement Kingsley, but why are you involving him?”

“Because we need more people Arthur –“

“Please – don’t feed me bullshit and expect me to eat it,” Mr. Weasley cut Shacklebolt off with a tight voice before his eyes softened and he exhaled deeply. “Kingsley, you _know_ that I trust you, but we could have called in Andromeda, or even Bill or Molly to help with this. I understood why we needed him to collect the memories as none of us had the skill – but why is he here tonight?”

“Because we will _need_ him Arthur,” Shacklebolt said slowly rubbing a tired hand over his jaw. “He has a skill set that you and I don’t have, one that earned him a spot deep within the Unspeakables, in a sub-unit that isn’t spoken of. That’s how I met him – sending him undercover to Bulgaria was a joint department operation that we set up four years ago.”

“What skill set?” Mr. Weasley’s pulse had quickened at the mention of the Unspeakables.

Unspeakables, a relic department in the Ministry leftover from darker days. They were a constant thorn in the side of the Ministry and a sore topic with the public. There had long since been petitions to have the group disbanded entirely but it had never made any progress because the Unspeakables were deemed a _requirement_ even though no one knew what they did. It was just widely accepted and understood that they handled a lot of the dark, nasty and unpredictable aspects of magic, and that their purpose was to protect, ensure safety and resolve _issues_. Though the vagueness still sparked unease with many, so their recruitment had been drastically cut in an effort to cull their purpose in place of disbanding the group entirely.

It truly was a fitting name given that anyone who joined the department could never speak of their work or their life and they often lost their name over time. Rarely did you even know who they were, it was common knowledge that these people were like ghosts, flitting in and out of reality, disappearing for years at a time only to return looking older or younger or exactly the same as if no time had passed at all. It was impossible to pin down their motivations, their loyalty, their purpose – they were mysteries, impossible to read, and came across as detached and robotic. Thus, people were afraid of them. They were dangerous.

“Interrogation, surveillance, torture, sabotage – _he_ is the invisible man you send in when you need something done. His undercover work in Bulgaria over the last three years is the _only_ reason why this war is not coming at us from both fronts.” Shacklebolt looked grim as he spoke. “What he did before Bulgaria, what the Unspeakables had him do I honestly can’t say Arthur. But he saved my neck before he left. We can trust him.”

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed and closed his eyes. It was possible Nasir wasn’t even his name – it was possible that the man was older than himself or Shacklebolt, and in reality Shacklebolt had _no_ idea who this man was. “I hope you’re right.”

A small pop from the room behind them pulled both of their eyes to the door. Lupin had arrived and he would no doubt be wondering who the stranger in the living room was. Resigning himself to trust Shacklebolt for the time being and hoping that it did not come back to bite him later Mr. Weasley followed Shacklebolt back out into the living room. Lupin was standing several feet back from Nasir and looked a bit surprised.

“Remus,” Mr. Weasley forced a smile and approached him quickly. “Thank you for joining us – it is very much appreciated. How’s Tonks?”

“She’s well,” Lupin said calmly, his eyes darting back to the unfamiliar face in the room. “I’m happy to help in any way that I can.”

“Remus,” Shacklebolt extended his arm and gave Lupin a warm hand shake. “Welcome, I’m glad you could make it. I would like you to meet Nasir – he will be helping us out in our upcoming efforts.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Lupin offered his hand and Nasir took it with a polite nod. “Arthur mentioned that there was something urgent we needed to get started on – but given the situation he thought it best to avoid putting too many details on paper, so you’ll have to forgive me, I’m not fully aware of the situation yet.”

Arthur launched into an explanation of the situation as they all took a seat. He relayed the information that they had pulled from Evan, the whereabouts of the werewolf den, the ever-growing army of enslaved muggles and that bands were being used as some sort of control method. Lupin’s expression was tight as Arthur continued to share the information that he had but he noticed Nasir appeared calm, cool and collected. It was unnerving.

“How do the bands function?” Lupin asked, his voice tight as the words came out in a rasp.

Arthur’s heart softened. The poor man was probably having a rough time hearing the information. Being a werewolf himself, his life had been difficult, lonely, and filled with despair and prejudice. Though, that was exactly why Mr. Weasley wanted his help. Aside from the obvious fact that Lupin would have intel on werewolves, what to expect from a den learned from the spying he had done for Dumbledore and how to approach the situation – he would also, more than possibly anyone else in the Order, be whole heartedly invested in putting a stop to the operation.

“I’m not sure yet,” Mr. Weasley hesitated. “But I will have that information soon, it’s being looked at and the individual completing the research has my full confidence.”

“Well regardless of the banding we need to develop a plan for infiltrating the den – we only have the resources to do this once and when we strike it _must_ be effective. Otherwise they will move locations and we will never find them again. We’ve been lucky to discover the information that we have, and we need to use it wisely.” Shacklebolt looked between the men. “We also need to decide what to do with the muggle werewolves – assuming we are able to take any into custody.”

The room was quiet for a moment, each man tight lipped as none of them wanted to say what they all feared.

“It is highly unlikely that you will be able to save any of them,” Nasir’s rich voice caught all three men’s attention, the first one to speak after the silence had filled the room. “When the time comes to infiltrate the base, you will need to be prepared to kill them.”

“Unsurprising opinion coming from an unspeakable,” Mr. Weasley breathed as Nasir continued to look at him with a flat stare. “We should at least prepare ourselves to take them in – have wolfsbane potion ready, supplies and places for them to go.”

“The transformation on muggles is far more devastating than it is on wizards, Arthur,” Nasir said calmly. “Even once disbanded and unfrozen from their perpetual wolf state, assuming that we can do it, would you really want to leave these people to live out a life alone, in agonizing pain after what they’ve already been through?”

“I think that they should at least be given the choice.”

“He’s correct Arthur,” Lupin’s voice was defeated, his head dropped into his hands and he spoke into his palms. “The transformation wears on muggles, they do not properly heal from it in between each cycle the way that we do as they lack the magic required to do so. As a result, it destroys them over time, and they live short lives. They would be forced to live away from their families in a world that they do not understand while slowly dying.”

He took a long pause before he lifted his head and looked around the room. “That said – I agree with Arthur. They should at least be given the choice. We cannot just walk in and slaughter them, they deserve better than that.”

Nasir flicked his eyes between the two men but remained silent.

“We can work to procure additional ingredients for wolfsbane potions,” Shacklebolt spoke, a sadness to his eyes. “We will be limited though, if their numbers have grown to the extent you believe they have Arthur, we cannot save them all.”

“So, what’s the next step them?” Lupin asked, looking to Mr. Weasley and Shacklebolt.

“We need to verify the location, the memories that Nasir pulled showing the location of the den are over two months old. We also need to get an idea of their traffic, numbers and defenses. This is critical for our success before we can launch an attack.” Shacklebolt replied.

“Once I receive additional information about the bands, we can use it and the information from our surveillance to develop a plan.” Mr. Weasley added.

Lupin nodded. “How long?”

“I’m hoping to act within the next three weeks,” Mr. Weasley’s statement received raised eyebrows from Shacklebolt.

“Arthur, we need time to complete a proper investigation of the location, I’m not sending anyone in until we are certain.”

“Yes, I understand that – but we also cannot waste time. They are preparing for something big, we need to act before they do.”

“Potions aside, I can gather the intel you require within eight days,” Nasir was eyeing the exchange between Mr. Weasley and Shacklebolt closely. “After that, it’s up to you how long it is until we strike.”

“You’ll gather the intel?” Mr. Weasley stared at the man with surprise.

“I was, as you have so kindly pointed out, an Unspeakable,” Nasir gave a polite smile, though it felt empty. “It _is_ what I do. Having anyone else tag along would only delay your efforts and increase the likelihood of being caught.”

“Nasir offered after you left Sunday,” Shacklebolt said quietly. “I think it is best that we use his skill – and during that time we can make preparations and preliminary plans. It will give us the best chance of saving any survivors that we find.”

“How do you intent to observe the den?” it was Lupin who spoke. “They will not only have wards, there will likely be a watch. Werewolves have a keen sense of smell and they will pick you up within a mile of that den. Not to mention the fact that they are underground – the echo from the muggle sewers will only aid their hearing.”

Nasir only stared at the man, blinking slowly before he finally responded. “It won’t be an issue.”

“I understand that as an Unspeakable you’re used to secrets and working alone but that is not how this Order works,” Mr. Weasley said firmly, his brow furrowing as he looked at Nasir. The tension in the room had started to grow between the men. “If you are going to help, then you need to be willing to work with us _together_ , as a team – Lupin has information that can aid us. If you complete the surveillance alone and it goes poorly, we will not get a second chance.”

“I understand your apprehension Arthur, and I am aware that you do not trust me – but I’m sure you appreciate that some information is better left unsaid as it could be detrimental to the bigger picture,” Nasir gave Mr. Weasley a knowing look, and in that moment Mr. Weasley’s heart stuttered. It was like the man knew that he was withholding information of his own. “I am happy to work with Remus and get a better understanding of what to expect. But let me assure you that I am more than capable of completing the observation on my own. I am here on my own volition Arthur, despite what you may think I have no other motivation and I am not interested in getting myself or anyone else killed during this process.”

Mr. Weasley clenched his jaw. He hated being in this position, he didn’t want to be difficult and he knew that they needed all the help that they could get. He desperately wanted to believe that Nasir was a good man who could be trusted, that he truly was here to help without any secret master plan – but it was incredibly difficult to allow himself to do it. He’d done it in the past, he had trusted Peter by the word of James, he had trusted Snape by the word of Dumbledore himself and both times the results had been devastating. He eyed Shacklebolt with a wary look and then let out a heavy sigh.

“Fine, but we should meet nightly to discuss your findings.”

“Early mornings would be best – if the muggles are confined to werewolf form, they will be most active between 6pm and 5am.” Lupin said, standing from his seat. “We should arrange to have a standing meeting each morning at 7am to discuss the observations.”

“That’s a good idea,” Shacklebolt nodded, the tension in his shoulders subsiding a little as it seemed like the room may have finally reached an agreement. “Nasir – you can meet us here tomorrow morning then?”

“I will be here at seven,” Nasir nodded before turning his attention back to Lupin. “Would you mind answering a few questions that I have?”

“Of course,” Lupin smiled, placing a gentle hand on Mr. Weasley’s shoulder and moving toward Nasir. “What would you like to know?”

-x-x-

He sat clutching the warm mug between his fingers, despite it being well after 11:30 at night he was having a coffee. He needed it. He felt drained. The hot steam curled off the surface of the milky liquid and filled the space between him and Lupin. Mrs. Weasley was bustling in the kitchen with her own mug and would be seated shortly – but for now he sat in silence, unsure of where to start.

“Who is looking at the bands?” Lupin finally asked, his hands curling around his own steaming mug and Mr. Weasley gave a sigh. “I’m assuming you withheld that information because of Nasir – or is this something that I too should not be made aware of.”

“It is a bit of a tricky situation,” Mr. Weasley met his eyes. “I don’t trust Nasir, but I’m afraid that this may indeed be one of those moments where the less people who know about it the better. Though, you know the individual well and they are without a doubt, exceptionally clever.”

Lupin’s eyes widened a fraction, but he didn’t press for any additional information. He had either gotten the hint or not, but he wouldn’t ask for confirmation. “I understand Arthur, believe me. And I share your concerns about Nasir – but Shacklebolt seems to trust him so I think we should too – at least until he gives us reason to doubt him. So far, he has been nothing but helpful, even if he is a bit detached.”

“Well it’s not like we have much choice,” Mr. Weasley rubbed a hand over his weary face as Mrs. Weasley took a seat next to him. “I just hope that it doesn’t become our downfall – we can’t handle another blow.”

“How did Kingsley meet this man?” Mrs. Weasley asked, raising her tea toward her mouth and blowing gently against it. “It’s odd that he hasn’t come up before now, don’t you think?”

“That is precisely what I said to him tonight,” Mr. Weasley took a sip of his coffee and relished in the taste as it rolled across his tongue. “Apparently he was an Unspeakable – but Kinsley worked with him on a mission in Bulgaria to help stop the rise of _you know who’s_ followers in the East.”

“Hmn,” Mrs. Weasley crinkled her nose in doubt. “I still don’t understand why he is the one collecting the information. For all we know he could be alerting them or setting up a trap that will devastate our forces. Shouldn’t _someone_ have gone with him?”

“We discussed that,” Lupin said softly his eyes falling to Mrs. Weasley and sparing Mr. Weasley from having to recap the tense conversation they’d had only an hour ago. “Unfortunately, werewolves have a _very_ keen sense of smell, excellent eye sight and tremendous hearing. Between that and the wards that are no doubt surrounding the den it is risky to send too many people into the area. Additionally, Kingsley has assured us that Nasir possess a unique set of skills that will allow him to spy undetected.”

“I’m sure,” Mrs. Weasley set her cup down and scowled. “I don’t trust it.”

“None of us are fond of the idea Molly,” Mr. Weasley spoke over his cup. “But there isn’t much we can do – Shacklebolt was second in command after Dumbledore, he is technically in charge of the Order and he trusts Nasir. We do need the help and as Remus said, so far – he _has_ helped.”

“I still think you should have gone with him.”

“Molly, Arthur is about as covert as an erumpent when it comes to surveillance – his talent has always been in planning and secret keeping, not spying. And I’m not any better.”

Mr. Weasley snorted into his coffee and gave Lupin a soft smile. It felt strange to laugh. It was so light hearted, so extremely distant and different from how he had been feeling over the past months but hearing Lupin chuckle while Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes made the weight on his shoulders feel a bit lighter. A sad smile passed between them, a quiet moment of friendship as they both sipped their coffees.

“I guess we wait and see what happens tomorrow morning,” Mr. Weasley spoke. “As Nasir left to go start his observations tonight.”

-x-x-

Black eyes circled the snowy ground. It was cold, the snow was deep and the faint light from the evening had long since departed. Everything was quiet, any small sound rang out harshly against the empty night as he passed silently through the wards that surrounded the Birmingham den. So far, after two hours of external observation he had not witnessed any movement. Not a single indication that there was a den of vicious werewolves only a hundred feet away beneath the abandoned building before him.

The wards were thick and layered – someone far more talented than a lowly snatcher had cast these and they encased the area around the den like a dense fog. The werewolves must exit the den over 600 feet out from its location for he did not catch a glimpse of a single one. He would need to circle back around the following night to find and document their exits. They must be blocked off before the strike took place, they would need to herd them back to the center so that the attack was both effective and swift.

The abandoned building was laced heavily with silencing charms, withholding the screams and growls that radiated from deep underground. There were only two guards, they moved in a constant circle, patrolling the perimeter as pairs – a human and a werewolf. The golden bands glinting against the snow as the beasts walked robotically at their owner’s heel. It was a strange sight to see and one that would unsettle many. But he slipped by them unnoticed, black against the black sky and soundless in his movements.

Entering the building was easy. No one had bothered to patch any of the damaged and broken windows on the top story – why would they? The wards were supposed to have been _effective_ after all. It was always when you became overly confident in your own abilities and the strength of your army that you left yourself most vulnerable. It was a common flaw he had seen countless times before, one he had anticipated, one he had planned to exploit from the moment he left the safe house.

The second he entered the building the silencing charms became ineffective – having only been placed on the outside of the building to keep the sound contained. Pained screams echoed through his ears as he made his way down, deeper, through the abandoned floors and under the ground. He carefully captured every detail, every smell, and every sound as he memorized the layout. The base was deep, it extended approximately 4 floors underground – two were preexisting but the deepest two were dug. Extended and held-up by magic. Most of the rooms seemed to be unused – save for two large round and deep holding pits. From the look and smell of it, it was where the werewolves were kept when they were not being used. At the time though, only two were in the largest pen and they were asleep. They looked thin, mangey, worn, like they were held together by feeble stitching and they might fall apart at any moment. They were left there to die and would be served up as food to the healthier ones.

Unlike the members of the Order – he was familiar with the deepest, darkest and most disturbing traits of humanity. He knew that you could not house or feed so many creatures without significant effort – so why waste the meat that they already had. If they were dying at a regular rate from being muggle it was the _logical_ thing to do, he didn’t need to see the pile of bones in the corner to know he was right, and it was just another reason why death would be the greatest gift you could give these creatures. Though it would also make it impossible for them to determine just how many lives had been lost over the course of the operation.

As he pressed his way forward the screams began to grow, unsurprisingly he came across several small rooms that appeared to be holding 4 muggles – no doubt recently collected. Three seemed resigned to their fate and were huddled against the wall, knees tucked under their chin, eyes down cast and trying to become as small as they physically could. One though, was screaming wretchedly, her cries tearing from her throat like broken glass as she pounded on the door, refusing to be quieted. He moved past them for there was still more to see. His slow and silent movements completely unnoticed in the dim lighting. At the end of a long dirt hall there was a room, it was open and quiet and seemed to be a makeshift laboratory. Odd pieces of muggle equipment had been brought in and set-up. There was a medical table in the center, and a work bench that contained an assortment of papers, notebooks, maps and cauldrons simmering over low flames. The wall was covered with a rather large map and it had several dots and circles – perhaps illustrating the locations in which they were raiding.

It seemed that _this_ was the room where it happened. Opened and unused bands covered a table against the left most wall and a row of large syringes lay next to them. Injections. Of course. It would be the only way to ensure a stable infection, to prevent the muggles from dying from the trauma of the bite. Though even then there would have been losses as many muggles reject the lycanthropy disease. But that only meant more food for the successful subjects. Rows of vials sat upon a shelf – filled with a clear liquid, already prepared for use. Most of the room looked organized, yet the syringes and medical gear unhygienic. He doubted that they bothered to clean them in between injections.

His timer sounded in his head and he retreated from the room, making the slow and steady journey past the holding rooms, past the dens and back up through the decrepit building. He would need to return several more times to map their movements and numbers. He needed to create a pattern and predict their actions to optimize their attack. But for now, he must return to the cottage and relay his observations. So he crept through the small broken window and fluttered silently into the cold night air.


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Adventures of Hr&H continue! And well, Ron is back… so that’s a thing.  
> (After editing this chapter [many, many, many times] this week it came to my attention that Hr&H may seem a bit… how you say... ‘bitchy’? Rude or mean? So, I just wanted to comment that the intent of that is not to have them begin acting out of character, it’s actually the exact opposite. This is the first glimpse of them interacting with another human in over 7 months (aside from letters) after being alone and having only each other. And it happened with Ron no less, the boy who abandoned them, so it’s a bit rough for them. Hopefully it will all come together in a few chapters)  
> **note that there will be multiple explosions as they deal with this over the next few chapters. So, if you do not feel like you got the bomb you were looking for just keep that in mind ;)  
> 2\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and holy heck!! I can’t believe the kudos you humans are leaving, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3 truly and dearly, each and every one of you.
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.  
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

If Ron had been expecting a triumphant return, or a warm welcome – he was sorely mistaken. Harry and Hermione stood rigid in front of him, eyes cold, wands pointed directly at his chest as they took in his presence silently. Harry watched as the awkward smile on Ron’s lips became unsure, the red head had finally taken note of their defensive crouched position, locked hands and deafening silence. He began looking between the two of them nervously, biting his lip as the tension and silence grew uncomfortable. Then Harry's instincts kicked in and he raised his wand higher to aim at Ron's face.

"What did Dumbledore leave you in his will," based on behaviour alone, Ron's slow reaction to Hermione's spell, his language usage and general mannerisms Harry was ninety-nine percent sure that this _boy_ was indeed Ronald Weasley. However, given the circumstances and their track record of bad luck he had no intentions of fucking around.

"W-What?" Ron stuttered, his eyes growing wider and Harry saw his shoulders square defensively. "Harry it's me I –"

"Answer the question _Ron_ , or you’ll wake up tethered to that rock," Harry's tone was low and dangerous. Ron froze on spot at the sound.

"His deluminator," the words came as a whisper, confusion started to form on his face.

It was a starting point, but unfortunately for Ron there was at least one other person who knew about that gift. Harry wracked his brain, it was difficult to know what to ask when someone could have used legilimency to comb through Ron’s brain and steal his memories. Though his mind quickly circled onto a better test question.

"What did you see in the mirror of Erised?" This he knew for a fact was something that only Ron would know – as Ron had been too embarrassed and insecure to tell anyone ese about it. So, if he answered correctly it was Ron.

 _Or perhaps still a very convincing and well researched imposter,_ Harry’s skeptical brain reasoned.

"I saw myself," Ron said slowly, a growing look of unease settling over his face as he eyed Harry’s wand warily and continued to flick his gaze toward their intertwined hands. It was abundantly clear that _this_ was not going as Ron had expected, but Harry did not give a shit. "I was Quidditch captain and Head Boy."

Harry tilted his head in a slow single nod and lowered his wand a fraction, but Hermione did not. Instead she flicked her wand, a diagnostic bubble appeared before Ron as he stumbled to the side in surprise.

"Woah what are you –"

"Don't move," Hermione cut him off. Her voice emotionless, cold – it was a command and Ron froze once more. A deep frown forming on his face as he watched Hermione examine the bubble and then slowly lower her own wand.

“It’s him,” she said to Harry, and he finally allowed their hands to fall apart between them.

“Well of course it’s me,” Ron said somewhat indignantly as he took a step forward and Hermione instinctively inched back. Harry was fairly sure that she didn’t even realize that she’d moved, but Ron noticed it and his visible discomfort grew.

“You could have been anyone,” Hermione corrected sharply, her eyes narrowing into slits as she looked at Ron. “How did you get here?”

“I apparated,” the confusion continued to circle on Ron’s face as he bit his lip nervously. He was gauging them, and his brain didn’t seem able to process what he saw. A line of worry formed between his brows.

“ _Obviously_ ,” Hermione said dryly. “I want to know _how_? How did you apparate here?”

“With Dumbledore’s deluminator,” Ron said reaching to pull it from his jacket pocket and quickly slowing when both Hermione and Harry flinched before him, their wands twitching in their hands. His eyes widened as shock crossed his face. He carefully, slowly, pulled the device from his pocket and spoke his next words in a pained and soft voice. “I was only going to show it to you – here.”

He held out the device as if reaching toward a wounded animal, hand outstretched from where his body remained, careful not to encroach on their space any further. He was giving them the choice to reach forward and take it on their own.

For the first time since his arrival Harry wondered what they must look like to Ron. This _was_ his best friend – his _first_ friend. The boy who had welcomed him into his family, taught him about Quidditch, followed him into the Chamber of Secrets and numerous other dangerous situations. He had helped Harry form a life within the wizarding world. And yet, they were recoiled from him, eyeing him cautiously as they flinched at his every movement. Harry didn’t trust him. He felt almost nothing but suspicion and anxiety as he glanced down to the silver device presented before him and snatched it quickly from Ron’s open palm.

It had been seven months, seven _long_ months. Harry had written him off ages ago, he had dealt with the anger, the heartbreak, the frustration of losing his _best_ friend and he had moved on. He had to. They had had no choice. They couldn’t afford to sulk and wait around for him to return when _he_ had been the one who decided to leave – it wasn’t as if they’d chased him away. And now Ron had inexplicably shown up out of fucking nowhere, intruding on them, all while trying to act as if nothing had changed. It was absurd to think that a friendly ‘ _Hey’_ was the appropriate greeting after such time… it was ridiculous to think that Ron had thought it was a good idea to come back at all.

So ultimately, whether it was heartless or not, Harry really did not give a fuck what they looked like to him. He did not care that Ron looked uncomfortable. That his awkward smile had faded to be replaced with a wary expression, or that he was approaching them in the same manner that one would address a dangerous creature. If anything, it was probably for the best that Ron appeared to be stunned into some kind of calm, nervous and unsure stupor at their _new_ appearance because it was delaying the inevitable dramatic explosion that he knew would happen.

Harry had seen the way Ron’s eyes flicked to their joined hands after he arrived, and he would no doubt notice the changes to the tent or the changes in their behaviour. It was only a matter of time before Ron stopped being nervous and his temper got the better of him. His hesitant demeanor would fail, and he would explode into a fit, making accusations and demanding answers to questions that he had no right to ask – acting as if they owed him the same trust and loyalty that he had received during the summer. Harry bit down a snort at the thought. As if they owed him _anything_ after what he had done. Harry turned the deluminator over in his hand, examining it. His eyes glanced over the silver metal. It’s was for the best that Ron had been caught off guard. It would keep him distracted from his typical bitter melodramatic reactions.

“How did it work?” Harry asked, his eyes only leaving Ron’s frame because he knew that Hermione was watching him intently. He knew that she would stun him if anything did happen – if they had been wrong and he _was_ an intruder.

“I heard your voices,” Ron said slowly. “Both of you said my name – I’d been trying to find you two for the last two weeks, popping in and out of Shell Cottage – so when I heard it coming from the deluminator I clicked it, it was the first time I’d heard any noise coming from it – I didn’t even know that was something it could do. But the light in my room went out and another one appeared just outside my window. I grabbed my backpack and went out to look at it and it had that sort of pulsing light like you get around a port key, you know?”

Harry’s eyes flicked back up to Ron’s but both he and Hermione stayed silent. Ron’s new attempt at a faint smile fell, and he cleared his throat before he continued a bit more awkwardly.

“I uh, well I approached the light and it sort of floated into my chest. I know it sounds unbelievable, but I _knew_ in that moment that if I disapparated I would be brought to you guys – so I did, and that’s how I got here.”

“You disapparated,” Hermione’s voice remained emotionless as her eyes traced over Ron’s face.

“Yes.”

“After you looked for us for two weeks,” even though her voice held no inflection Harry instinctively grabbed her hand to calm her down. Ron was lucky that she hadn’t hexed his balls off already.

“Er, yes,” Ron started to look anxious again and he rubbed the back of head nervously. The quick motion sent another flinch through the duo and Ron’s expression became tight as he halted his movements. “It’s a little chilly out here – maybe we could go talk inside the tent, we could catch up.”

 _Stupid_ , Harry thought as Hermione’s grip began to crush his hand.

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ – is it too _cold_ out here for you?” her voice dripped like acid as her eyes narrowed back into slits.

“Uh-hh no, I just thought it might be a bit more comfortable.”

A slow moment passed and then Harry felt Hermione drop his hand. She snatched her purse out of the air as it flew toward her soundlessly and she turned sharply to retreat into the tent. He watched Ron’s expression as she disappeared inside.

“So, erm, are we going inside then?” Ron asked awkwardly. Several slow seconds passed between them until Harry finally spoke.

“After you,” Harry gestured out with his hand, though there was no invitation in his voice. He remained unmoving, waiting for Ron to go first as there was no way he would turn his back to anyone but Hermione.

“Okay,” Ron breathed, taking a nervous step past Harry and walking toward the tent.

When they entered Hermione was leaning against the kitchen table next to her opened purse facing the door. Her arms were crossed protectively over her chest as her hand gripped her wand tightly, her brow was furrowed, and her eyes immediately locked back on to Ron.

“Why now?” she asked, not waiting for Ron to drop his bag to the ground or remove his jacket.

“What do you mean?” He removed his jacket slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. Harry did not bother taking his off and instead stood at an angle off the side – placing himself close to Hermione but slightly in front so he could monitor both of their faces.

“I mean, it’s been _seven_ fucking months – why were you looking for us the last two weeks? Why come back at all now?” Hermione’s harsh question exactly outlined what Harry had been wondering.

Why the hell had Ron come back now? If it was purely because this was the first time that he was able to find them, then that would at least make a small amount of sense. As far as Harry could remember he and Hermione had not mentioned his name since he left until today, or at least today had been the first time that they had spoken about Ron outwardly without anger, hatred or some other form of misgivings – so perhaps that was tied to how the deluminator worked. But then why the fuck did he specifically say he was looking for them the _last_ _two_ weeks? Why mention that at all? And better yet, as Hermione had asked, why did he even want to come back after so much time away?

“I spoke to my dad a bit ago,” Ron bit his lip nervously and twisted his hands in front of him. “He uh, sort of talked some sense into me about how I had been acting, so I started trying to look.”

“So, you waited seven months – then felt bad when your dad what, called you out on it? Then you started looking for us in March?”

“It wasn’t the _first_ time I looked for you Hermione – I regretted leaving the second I did!”

“Then why not come back then?” Harry asked, crossing his arms over his chest but keeping his expression carefully blank.

“I wanted to,” Ron’s voice was starting to become a bit desperate as he glanced between the two of them once more. “But I apparated into London when I left and ran into some snatchers. I lied to them about who I was and managed to get away – they weren’t too bright, I think one of them may have been part troll from the smell.”

Harry could feel himself cringe inwardly. If Ron thought an attempt at humor was wise in a moment like this, he was even more of an idiot than Harry remembered. Hermione glared at him like stone and Harry’s own face faltered into one of irritation as he watched Ron’s brow furrow once more.

“Anyways, they started arguing – they had my wand see, but I managed to hit the one holding me while they were distracted, stole his wand, disarmed the man holding mine to get it back and then apparated away. I splinched myself in the process.” Ron held up his hand as evidence and Harry noted the two missing fingernails. He couldn’t stop the frown that began to cross his face. “By the time I got back to the riverbank that we had been camped on you two were gone and I couldn’t find you.”

“How terrible that must have been for you.” Hermione said, a tint of sarcasm in her voice that Ron did not miss.

“Look I’m sorry,” Ron said taking a small step towards her but stopping when she flinched, and Harry’s wand twisted in his direction. “Fucking Merlin –”

Ron groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

“You guys are behaving like I might attack you any second.” His voice was strained with hurt as he spoke again, and he fixed them with a painfully desperate look.

“Maybe that’s because we _have_ been attacked nearly every second.” Harry said dryly, his face now fully a mixture of annoyance and disgust.

“Fuck – you guys aren’t the only ones who’ve been attacked, I know what it’s like out there!” Ron’s agitation started to grow as he raised his voice and shot Harry a glare. “I’m sorry that I left – I wish that I hadn’t, but I do know that things haven’t been easy out there.”

“Yes, I can imagine that life at the cottage must have been so trying,” Hermione’s voice was caustic now and she looked about two seconds away from hexing Ron into oblivion. “What with your missing fingernails and all it’s a wonder that you survived.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Ron practically yelled, his voice echoing out through the tent as his temper finally got the better of him. “I’ve already said it, how many more times do you need to hear it? I’m sorry! I’m sorry that I left – if I could take it back I would, but I can’t!”

“Well I'm glad that you're sorry Ron,” Hermione said stiffly, her eye twitching as she continued to stare at him. “It shows that at least _some_ part of you understands that what you did was –“

“WHAT I DID WAS WRONG!” Ron bellowed, his face red with anger as his desperate eyes swept between them, pleading to them, begging them for the forgiveness he so desperately sought. “I GET IT! You’re angry, I get it! Look I’ve _already_ apologized, I said I was sorry! What more do you want from me?!”

Hermione’s eyes went dark, her shoulders stiffened, and she stood from her leaned position against the table slowly, staring Ron down as if he were the mud on her boots. Harry's hand twitched on his wand. While he was right there alongside Hermione in her disgust and burning anger, the last thing that they needed was a dead Weasley in the tent. He didn’t feel like putting in the effort to dispose of the body, so he was prepared to disarm her if necessary. Though really, it would do little to prevent her from attacking Ron if she wanted to. They had far surpassed the need to hold a wand or speak anything to wield deadly magic and she could shred him to pieces without blinking an eye if she wanted to.

“ _I_ didn’t say that what you did was _wrong,_ Ronald Weasley,” her voice was venom, low and cutting. Ron quieted under her stare, the anger and colour quickly drained from his face as his expression filled with fear.

Harry watched in wait – it was the first time since Ron had apparated his stupid blundering ass into their campsite like nothing had changed, like nothing had happened between them that he was _finally looking_ at Hermione. He was finally seeing who she really was, what she had become while he was gone, that she had _entirely_ changed. The darkness that she carried in the depths of her eyes and the stone-cold precision of her body as it moved made a shudder run through Ron’s lanky frame as she stepped closer to him. It terrified him. _She_ terrified him.

"Choosing to save your own neck above others isn't _wrong._ It’s _cowardly_. What you did was _selfish_ and poorly thought out." The words shot like daggers from Hermione’s mouth, but she hadn't raised her voice a decibel. “What you did, breached our trust. You broke the very bones of our friendship, you damaged the binds that kept us together all these years – after _everything_ that we've been through – you _abandoned_ us Ronald. We _agreed_ to fight this war together. Did you think that you could escape it by just leaving?”

Ron audibly gulped as Hermione took a second step toward him and Harry saw the visible shake of the boy’s back leg as she closed the space between them. The air in the tent hung heavy and thick, the silence was deafening as she rolled her shoulders back and unleashed her wrath in a calm and deadly voice.

" _You_ don’t get to waltz in here after seven fucking months and pretend like _nothing_ happened – pretend like everything can go back to how it was because you’re _sorry._ You _lost_ that right when you chose to walk away, when you chose to save your own neck because things got too hard – because you wanted to bow out of this war. You don’t just get it back – it’s a privilege that is earned! You want to stay and help? _Fine_. I'm not stupid enough to turn down assistance when it’s offered, but I will not tolerate you getting in our way either. I _will_ remove you from this tent if you so much as _hint_ at fucking up again – and this time it will be _permanent_. And – don’t – you – _dare_ – think for a _second_ that your showing up changes what you did. That it makes up for _anything!_ ”

She paused, looking him over from head to toe, nose cringed as she brought her eyes back up to his and fixed him with a lethal look.

“ _We_ are not friends Ronald. That ship has sailed, _this_ is real life – you don’t get a free pass. You want to be friends again, you _earn_ it."

-x-x-

To say that things in the tent were tense would have been a massive understatement. It would have been like calling the Quidditch World Cup a small backyard gathering or saying that a dragon was no more dangerous than a flobberworm. But despite this, and beyond and reason that Harry could possibly comprehend – Ron stayed. He suspected it was largely because he was too embarrassed to return home yet a _second_ time and that he had nowhere else to go. Or maybe, it was because Hermione’s words had stunned him into an even deeper trance, that caused him to become silent and shaky for the rest of the evening. Or, perhaps the most likely reason, deep down Ron was still thinking that given enough time things would gradually return to normal and that Hermione’s speech was just an angry outburst at his initial return – if this was indeed the case for him staying, which Harry highly suspected it was, Ron would be waiting indefinitely.

Harry also suspected that Ron did not truly understand what Hermione had meant when she said that she would remove him ‘ _permanently’_ from the tent. Otherwise he _would_ have left.

After Hermione had all but physically destroyed Ron, she retreated to the potions lab to go through their medical supplies – for an unnecessary fourth time, but Harry knew it was because she couldn’t stand to look at Ron let alone engage with him further. She was angry and annoyed and no doubt panicking. His return had not been a part of their plan and now she was most definitely adjusting their schedule and checking their overall supplies as well.

Ron’s eyes shifted nervously around the tent, taking in the changes and modifications that they had made with raised eyebrows but thankfully, no comments. Harry stood quietly watching him. He had nothing to add to what Hermione had said and was united with her in solidarity. When Ron gave him an awkward smile and Harry gave him nothing in return, it finally seemed like Ron started to understand that the opinion was shared between the two of them – and that Harry would not be dishing out forgiveness as easily as he had in the past.

After five excruciatingly long and silent minutes Ron finally spoke to Harry in a hushed voice, asking what happened to his bed.

“We needed a lab.” Harry replied, and then decided to avoid the next question. “Take Hermione’s old bunk.”

Ron nodded nervously and brought his bag over to the bed, placing it at the foot and pulling out a few small items.

“Did you bring any food or supplies?” Harry asked, his brow raised a fraction, still unmoved from his original position.

“Uh – er, no I – I only have a few snacks.”

The quiet snort from Hermione in the lab did not go unnoticed as Harry sighed and Ron’s ears flushed pink.

“I’ll start dinner,” Harry said as he finally moved, going to collect the purse from Hermione and taking off his jacket.

Dinner was uncomfortable. Harry exchanged his usual seat for the one next to Hermione and they all ate in silence. Neither he nor Hermione felt comfortable discussing their plans or their progress with Ron. The reality was, they did not trust him. He was a flight risk and therefore a security risk. If they told him anything and he left again there would be no guarantee that he wouldn’t be captured or tortured for information. It was a risk they weren’t willing to take and one that they didn’t even need to openly discuss – a single glance between them and they both silently agreed. Frankly, it was a miracle that he hadn’t already inadvertently ruined their efforts with what he _did_ know. The only reason Ron had not been captured so far was because he hid in the safety of Shell Cottage. So, as they all ate in silence Harry began to wonder how Ron’s return would impact their plans – though the discussion would need to wait until he and Hermione could speak privately.

“We train at 7am,” Harry finally said to Ron when he had finished chewing his last bite.

“Okay,” Ron said nodding slowly and watching Hermione nervously as she collected the plates and avoided his gaze.

The tent returned to it’s awkward silence once more as Harry picked up a book and Hermione once again hid in the lab. Ron, who seemed to have no idea what to do with himself, and Harry felt no desire to instruct him, fiddled aimlessly with his bag until he finally settled down with a book. Though Harry knew that he wasn’t actually reading it, he didn’t turn a single page in the three hours they all sat in silence after dinner.

“I’ll take first watch,” Hermione said tightly after the evening had grown late and she finally exited the lab. She gave Harry a quick look before she pulled on her coat and trudged out of the tent – they would talk later.

Harry nodded and Ron followed suit in an attempt to look agreeable even though he had no idea that this was not typical procedure for them anymore. They didn’t need a night watch, they’d given it up ages ago. The wards were sound and since no one else on the planet had a deluminator there would be no other unexpected guests. However, they refused to leave Ron unattended and they were uncomfortable with the idea of them both being asleep with him there. Harry didn’t need to speak to Hermione to know that. He could feel it in her body language and had confirmed it from the small agitated glances she had sent him throughout the evening.

Thus, re-establishing a night watch was really the only thing to do. Harry had nodded stiffy when Ron offered to take a shift after Hermione exited the tent, indicating that they could wake him to take his turn. There was no way in hell he would be taking a night shift. Harry had no intentions of waking him, he would leave Ron to sleep the full night.

When 3am finally arrived, Harry silently left his bunk and scowled at the snoring sounds that Ron was making before he pulled on his jacket and went to relieve Hermione. His attempts at getting sleep had been futile. It was entirely impossible to doze off without Hermione at his side, his nerves were on edge from every sound that Ron made, and his thoughts were racing. So, instead he had spent the last few hours thinking and critically analyzing their new situation.

He knew that Hermione was doing the same just outside the tent as she maintained the completely unnecessary night watch, and this was the reason why he had stayed in bed instead of rushing outside the second Ron fell asleep. She needed time to think on her own. She needed to analyze, plan, examine and reconsider all their options the same way that he had been. It was how they worked, how they had been so effective for the last seven months. They researched and thought and then discussed their findings together once they were ready and organized. This, Ron, was no different than any other problem that they had encountered thus far. So, naturally, without needing to declare it, they both went about it as they usually would.

“Hey,” he said quietly, placing his hand on her shoulder and giving her a light squeeze.

“Hey,” she whispered. She scooted over on the rock she’d collected for a stool and Harry sat down beside her. “Did you sleep?”

“No.”

“I don’t think I will either,” she sighed back to him, her voice so light it was barely audible against the wind.

“I know.”

“Harry, this is bad – no matter how many times I’ve gone over it in my head, the result is _not_ good. We don’t have enough food or supplies, I didn’t factor this in. He’s untrained too – he won’t be able to keep up and he’s going to be a constant flight risk. Telling him any information is completely out of the question.”

“I know,” Harry said again, this time with a deep sigh. He dropped his head into his hands. She was hitting every single worry that had been running through his head the last few hours and she appeared to have drawn the same conclusions. “If he stays, we’ll have to head father South back into risky territory so that we can collect more food.”

She nodded. For the last several weeks they had been living conservatively off their grocery stores as they’d all but run out of money. They’d been supplementing meals with food they managed to scrounge up in the Northern woods and from the ocean.

“We can’t function with no sleep either – this is going to catch up to us eventually Harry.” She whispered.

“Yeah, I thought of that too. But I can’t sleep without you there and frankly I don’t even think it’s worth trying to. We already _know_ it won’t happen so it would just be a waste of time and will result in us being dead tired – maybe we can ward his bed or something to alert us if he moves so we can still get some rest.”

“Maybe,” she said slowly, pulling the collar of her jacket up against the wind. “We can’t go to Xenophilius’.”

“No,” Harry said shaking his head. He had figured she would say that, but he disagreed. “We have to go, and we’re not going to delay it – if we do, we will be exhausted, tired and low on resources. It will put us even more at risk than we are now. The longer that he’s here the more comfortable he’ll get. This shocked stupor thing that he’s in will wear off. Right now he’s really nervous of us and is more likely to listen without blowing up or self-imploding in pity when he realizes that we don’t need him here and that his presence is largely a handicap. We can take advantage of that – we’ll go to Xenophilus’, but he stays here.”

“You seriously think he will agree to stay behind?” Hermione turned to look at Harry with her eyebrow arched. “Do you actually want to leave him unattended or with our tent?”

“No – but we could always stun him, maybe stuff him in your purse.”

Hermione snorted and leaned her head against Harry’s arm. “We could always bring him and leave him as a lookout? I agree with what you said about him being nervous, he’s more likely to accept that role now than later. Or we tell him that we operate on an ‘every man for himself’ philosophy – that if he doesn’t keep up, we’ll leave him behind.”

“Would you be able to do it though?” Harry asked, his breath ghosting across the skin of her forehead as he turned to look at her. “Leave him there? I know you’re mad – we’re on the same page on that front Hermione, but would you be able to leave him to die?”

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. Harry could hear the trust in her voice, it was mixed in with her turmoil. She knew that he would not judge her regardless of whatever her response was. He hadn’t asked the question to act as a moral prude whose goal was to shame her into realizing that all life was equally important or sacred. It had been a genuine question out of interest. “Maybe – maybe not. I’m angry about him returning with _no_ supplies and acting like _nothing_ has changed – the whole idea of him thinking he can just show up after seven months is ludicrous. I’m honestly still not sure why he even came back at all. But – he isn’t an _evil_ person – he doesn’t deserve to _die_. Though really Harry, could we afford to _leave_ him behind at all? He knows about the Horcruxes, he knows so much about us and Dumbledore’s plans. It was fine when he was safe with the Weasley’s but if he was captured now it would be devastating to our efforts.”

“I know,” Harry kissed the top of her head lightly. “The purse idea is starting to sound pretty good right now isn’t it?”

Hermione snorted again before she turned her head to capture Harry’s lips, her heart aching as she tried to pull him closer and his hand slid around her waist. He moved his mouth against hers slowly, lovingly as the cold wind whisked across their skin and the stars shone brightly against the black sky. Her eyes had fluttered closed and she opened her mouth wider as his tongue gently slid over hers. It eased her heart, her mind, her soul – and when they finally broke apart, she felt like she could breathe again.

“Let’s see how training goes tomorrow,” Harry said quietly against her lips. “But one way or another we stick to the plan – we’re going to Xenophilius’ the following day.”

-x-x-

Training the next day did not go well – well it did from Hermione and Harry’s perspective. Despite the fact that she did not sleep the entire previous night she rose from bed at 6:30am and pulled Harry in from his watch to eat breakfast with her. Ron continued to snore. They began their physical workout in the living room at 7am on the dot, increasing their reps by another count and doing a second round of burpees just because. Ron remained asleep when they headed outside to begin their dueling practice and Harry nodded in agreement when Hermione warded the potion lab and the desk area before they left the tent so that he would not be able to touch anything. Then after spending several minutes confirming their plan, they began a harsh round of training.

At precisely 11am Hermione rolled through the freezing wet snow, prepared to pop up and send a leg locker at Harry when movement in the right corner of her eyes caught her attention and her body reacted on instinct. She hurled two stunning spells and a leg locker in quick succession only to watch as Ron fell to the ground unconscious by the tent’s entrance. With a groan of annoyance she pulled herself up off the ground and flicked her wand at him to remove the spells.

“Merlin’s balls,” Ron groaned as he pulled himself up off the ground and looked up to Harry and Hermione. The pair were covered in sweat and snow, both panting, and had dark circles lingering around their eyes. “What are you guys doing – I thought you said you started at seven?”

“We _did_ start at seven,” Hermione said sharply, her lip twitching as Ron brushed the snow off his pants. He already seemed miles more comfortable than the night before and was starting to slip back into his regular behaviour. It was truly incredible how much of a daft dolt the boy was.

“You didn’t wake me up,” Ron said as he rubbed his side. The sting from the stunning spell no doubt ached.

“I didn’t _what?_ ” Hermione snapped.

 _The idiotic, absolute fucking – asshole – pig!_ She screamed internally as she glared at him in disbelief. Her hand had tightened on her wand as the air crackled around her, she was about to stun Ron a second time when Harry cut in.

“I told you what time we start at. She’s not your mother Ron, it’s not her job _or_ mine to get you up. If you want to train with us, and I suggest that you do, next time set an alarm.” Harry strolled forward, stopping at Hermione’s side and glancing at her quickly. “Let’s break for lunch and go over the plans.”

They stalked past Ron and into the tent, ignoring the look of embarrassment and frustration that was plastered on his face.

-x-x-

“You want me to what?” Ron asked, his expression bewildered after Harry had spoken.

“I want you to be our lookout.” Harry repeated, his voice flat as Hermione sat at the table and picked at her toast.

It was the approach that they had discussed the night before and finalized before their morning training. Hermione continued to avoid the boy’s gaze as much as possible because it only made her more angry – though it seemed to irritate Ron.

“Why wouldn’t I just come with you?”

“Because we don’t know what to expect when we get there, it could be dangerous.”

“So, wouldn’t it be safer if we were all together – more strength in numbers, right?”

Harry hesitated, a deep breath exhaling from his chest while he thought of how to respond. Hermione felt for him – she was glad that he had taken the lead on addressing the red headed elephant in the room. There was no easy way to tell Ron that he was a threat to their safety and success because he lacked the skills necessary to survive. Though, it was the truth. He was putting their mission and their existence at risk.

“We need a look out, someone outside of the wards that can watch for any uninvited guests and alert us if they show up. You missed training today Ron – so we’re not really sure where you stand with your dueling or how to compliment your skills with ours. Things have been getting pretty rough out there and Hermione and I have been preparing for this for a while – assuming that it would just be us, so we’ve planned the approach that way and we don’t have time to come up with a new strategy. But we could use your support as a lookout.”

“Right,” Ron’s face turned red as his anger flared despite Harry’s diplomatic reasoning. Hermione could see him biting the inside of his cheek to keep from exploding from the corner of her eye. He was already a ticking time bomb. “And _how_ will I alert you if someone shows up?”

“Hermione will give you a coin, you tap it twice and we’ll know.”

“Where is it that we’re going?” Ron said, his hands visibly shaking with anger now.

“Xenophilius Lovegood’s,” Harry said.

“So, after this _mission_ , if I come to _training_ , I can join you two on the next one?” his eyes were skeptical as he glanced between the two of them.

Hermione noted the way his hands balled into a fist on the table. He had clearly been hoping that the metaphorical ‘dust’ would settle overnight. She scoffed inwardly – _idiot, he really doesn’t get it._

He also looked uncomfortable with how closely Hermione was sitting next to Harry on their side of the table. She had to admit that the set-up definitely gave the feel of _‘us versus you_ ’ but Hermione could only acknowledge it and move on for the time being. At this point it was taking an exceptional amount of effort for her and Harry to tolerate having him physically in the tent at all. Every unfamiliar noise he made, every movement, and every sound had them flinching in reaction – putting him in danger of having his head cut off at the flick of a finger. Their senses were in overdrive and it was draining. She herself had already almost killed or stunned him four times since he arrived, not including the three times she _did_ hit him that morning – she couldn’t even imagine how many times Harry had caught himself almost doing it. They were positively wired, sitting on edge and exhausted from their lack of sleep the night before. And while Hermione could _understand_ Ron’s anger at being assigned the bullshit look out position, it was difficult for her to be sympathetic in any form when she was barely holding herself together and was one wrong reaction away from splitting him open.

“If training goes well,” Harry nodded in response to Ron’s question. Though they both knew the odds of that was unlikely.

“Alright,” Ron said somewhat begrudgingly, clenching his jaw. So far, Hermione was shocked to see that he had managed to keep his second detonation at bay, though it was growing closer like a building storm. She could feel it in the air, and she knew it was held off only because Ron was still more unsure of the two of them than he was angry. He’d been eyeing Harry’s long messy hair and scruffy jawline since he arrived and watching their movements in confusion. Though it was only a matter of time until the scales tipped. “When are we going tomorrow?”

“In the morning,” Hermione supplied, her eyes still transfixed at the table. “We’ll eat at 7am, pack up and be there for 8am. We’ll show you the lookout point once we arrive. It should be a quick in and out – if anything goes wrong, apparate away and we meet back here, so make sure you learn the location.”

Ron only nodded in response and Hermione felt the tension in Harry’s shoulders lessen when he stood up from the table to go shower. At the soft click of the bathroom door Hermione cast a _muffliato_.

“He’s going to _explode_ Harry,” she said as she turned to look at him. “I know we agreed to this plan – but _this_ is risky – if he loses his temper at Xenophilius’ we might be fucked.”

“I know,” Harry exhaled deeply. They both knew there were no other viable options aside from actually stunning him and leaving him somewhere safe until they could return. “Should we tell Arthur – maybe see if we can send him back or something?”

Hermione snorted at Harry’s sarcasm.

“We’d have to stun him and make it a drop, he won’t leave on his own.” She sighed in frustration. “Harry, we can’t even shield him – if I cast that charm on him it will be like the hilltop battle all over again when I cast it on that werewolf, the spell _will_ be red.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Harry nodded. She could see a million scenarios running through his head as he brushed his hair back from his face. “We just keep him at the lookout location, it’s away from everything else and he knows where to go if anything goes wrong. He can, at the very least, apparate. He won’t go back to Shell Cottage a second time – he’s too embarrassed. So, if we chase him away or _make_ him leave it could be worse, he’ll be out there wandering around on his own – a high risk of being caught. At least this way we can keep an eye on him and make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“I know,” Hermione groaned and dropped her forehead to the table. She contemplated bashing it there to combat the overwhelming frustration that was consuming her. She could feel it crawling uncomfortably through her muscles and eating away at the back of her mind. “That’s the _only_ reason why I didn’t chase him away when he first arrived – it’s far too risky, he’ll get picked up because he’s to fucking stubborn to go back to safety of the cottage. Fuck! He already told us it almost happened to him once. But I am _not_ dying for him, Harry, and neither are you!”

She breathed heavily against the wood surface as she forced all the air out of her lungs. Her breath condensed on the cold wood and she watched the small patch slowly fade away before another thought struck her.

“Do you think he will leave his post?” she asked.

“Fuck, he better not. If he is stupid enough to do that then I’m at a complete loss – we can’t babysit him if he is actively trying to sabotage our missions.”

Hermione nodded her head against the wood as her shoulders sagged. She felt Harry place a hand gently at the base of her neck and she closed her eyes.

“I’m tired Harry.”

“Me too.”

“We need to sleep tonight.”

“I know,” he rubbed gentle circles into her neck, and she felt some of the stress fall away from her body.

“Even though I hate the idea of both of us being asleep while he’s in the tent we can’t go a second night without rest. We both need to sleep tonight – it’s more important than anything else that we’re rested and functional for tomorrow. _Especially_ now that he will be tagging along.”

It went without saying that they both knew sleeping together with Ron in the tent was pretty much the worst idea ever. It was a risky move – if Ron noticed them, it would indeed be the most sure-fire way to make his ever-growing explosion erupt with a vengeance. They were both acutely aware of it. They knew that the issue of their relationship would have to be addressed eventually, but neither one of them was looking forward to it. Yet they also had no interest or desire to _hide_ their relationship from him or anyone else, especially if that meant risking their own wellbeing and putting themselves in danger due to sleep deprivation. Hermione wasn’t so disconnected from the world that she had become completely tactless – she wasn’t going to fuck Harry or make slow love to him while Ron was there. But she _did_ need her sleep. And that meant she needed Harry. There was no other option.

“Mhmm,” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses. This was just another challenge that they did not need. “We will just have to ward his bunk.”

“And wait till he falls asleep.”

“And then deal with whatever happens. I’m serious about stunning him if we have to,” Harry sighed and pushed himself up from the table. “I’ll get the map.”

They spent the remainder of the afternoon reviewing the maps and the plans. They disclosed only what information they absolutely had to with Ron and kept the remainder to themselves. When night finally fell, and Ron had passed out in his bunk Hermione crawled into bed next to Harry. She was glad that they had both agreed that a proper night’s sleep was the most important thing that they could accomplish tonight despite the known risks. She body ached, her mind was sluggish and worn from the stress of having Ron in the tent. She didn’t like that she felt slow and weary, it just made her stress levels higher and it affected her concentration. Completing a second round of night watch would be reckless and irresponsible when they both knew that neither one of them would be able to sleep without the other.

Though, Ron’s snores were hardly going to make it any easier. Hermione scowled toward his bunk and cast a silencing charm around it, sighing in relief when the noise stopped, and the tent fell back to its familiar quiet. After a moment’s hesitation she cast two small wards around his bunk – one to alert them if he sat up in bed and one to prevent him from getting more than a foot out of it. It was unlikely, based on his sleeping habits that he would wake before them – but she knew that she would not be able to rest without the wards there, and that it was better safe than sorry. Harry pulled her back against his chest, his familiar arms snaking around her waist as the cool tent air eased her eyes shut and she fell into an uneasy sleep.

-x-x-

Hermione woke with a start, a loud gasp ripping from her chest as her hand thrust forward, lighting the tent with her wand as she shivered and looked around in terror. She felt Harry’s hand on her hip, and she sighed as her shaken mind began to calm. Cool sweat covered her forehead and she bit back a groan.

 _Just a dream, just the same fucking dream as always. Breathe. Relax._ The cold air stung against her lungs as she felt Harry sit up in bed next to her and she let him pull her against him.

“It’s okay,” he murmured into her ear, she leaned back into the solid warmth of his body. The only secure thing that made her racing heart slow. “You’re safe, I promise.”

“What time is it,” she felt too shaky to check herself and instead she lay cradled in his arms. Lowering her wand and returning them into the darkness.

“5:30”

“That’s later than usual.”

“Mhmm,” his hum rattled against her chest and she closed her eyes tight. Wiping the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve.

“I’m going to just get up then – take a shower.”

“Okay, I’ll start breakfast.”

“Alright,” she breathed, as Harry kissed her neck gently. She pulled herself from bed on shaky legs, scrapped Ron’s wards and quickly summoned a fresh set of clothes from her purse before padding softly to the bathroom.

-x-x-

“I could have slept on the floor,” The hollow sound of Ron’s voice pulled Harry’s attention away from the eggs he was cooking. Hermione was will in the shower, the plates were already set out on the table and Ron was now sitting up in bed, his feet resting against the cold floor while he fixed Harry with a strange expression. It was tight, bitter, unsure – he looked disturbed and confused, as if he had not quite reached a conclusion yet but was afraid of the answer.

“It’s not a big deal,” Harry said quickly, hoping to dismiss the topic. Ron had likely woken when Hermione blasted the tent with a violent beam of light. They knew it was a risk when they decided to sleep normally, but Harry couldn’t regret it. He felt rested and alert which was better than he could say he felt the previous day. Ron had _probably_ heard them together, as it was unlikely he saw anything in the darkness or blazing light, and had been laying in his bed contemplating it for the next half hour. That was the most likely reason for his pinched face and angry curiosity. Though Harry couldn’t help but inwardly scoff at the resentment he showed, it was unfounded and so typical _Ron_.

“Or we could transfigure that chair into another bed,” Ron said, not letting the topic drop. He wasn’t satisfied with the response that Harry had given and was digging for information that Harry knew he would not truly want to know. Yet he didn’t have the balls to ask outright and was beating around the bush like a coward. The water in the bathroom shut off.

“That’s Hermione’s workspace,” Harry said in a clipped tone, placing a hot mug in front of Hermione’s plate and ignoring Ron’s eyes. “Tea, coffee, or water?”

“I’m sure it would be fine to change a chair into a bed just for the night,” Ron continued as he pushed himself from bed and made his way to the table. It seemed the remains of stunned stupor that had encased him upon his arrival was dissolving rapidly and the _old_ Ron was starting to shine through much more clearly.

Up until now Ron had likely assumed that they had only shared a bunk because there was no place else to sleep – though he clearly didn’t whole heartedly buy the explanation he’d come up with. Since they _could_ have created a third bed for the night. Harry clenched his jaw and bit back his annoyance. The boy was like a dog with a bone and he didn’t know when to stop.

“She doesn’t sleep well alone,” Harry said bluntly, finally turning his eyes toward Ron and fixing him with a firm stare – daring him to press the topic further. He should have just obliviated the memory from him, but it would be wasted efforts since it would just keep happening. “She has nightmares.”

“Why?” Ron asked, his jaw tense at the response, hands curling tightly around the back of the kitchen chair as Harry slid the eggs onto a plate and set them in the center of the table. The anger in his voice was growing now and it was starting to piss Harry off.

 _If you can’t handle the answers don’t ask the fucking questions_ , Harry spat internally as his eyes hardened.

“Bad experiences,” Harry crossed his arms over his chest, placing himself directly across the table from Ron. The air grew tight and it felt like the tent was shrinking around them. The tension was palpable, growing thicker with each breath and Harry was shoving down his growing urge to punch Ron in the throat. “ _Tea_ , _coffee_ , or _water_?”

Ron opened his mouth to respond, probably to yell and make accusations – turning their conversation into a full blown argument – but his attention was pulled toward the small bathroom hallway at the sound of the doorway opening. Hermione padded out toward Harry, hair freshly dried and tied into a lose braid along the back of her head. Harry’s eyes shifted over to her and he couldn’t stop the twitch of his lips and spark of warmth in his heart at the sight of her thick, fuzzy, purple socks as she grew closer. They went well with the sweater she was wearing, it was one of her favourites after all.

Hermione probably hadn’t looked at the clothes she’d summoned after waking in terror and making her way to the bathroom. She wouldn’t have even thought about them after putting them on in the small bathroom. It didn’t even register in Harry’s mind that her favourite sweater had a small v-neck and her topmost scar was peeking out three inches at the neckline.

But it registered for Ron.

Harry heard the sharp intake of breath across the table from him and glanced back at Ron with a raised eyebrow confused as to why Ron’s face suddenly looked shocked. It took a full three seconds for the realization hit him. He almost stunned the boy silent before the words exited his mouth – but he’d been too slow in making the connection. He no longer noticed her scars as something significant, they had become a part of her, just another part that he loved.

“Merlin Hermione – what happened?!” Ron’s words were breathless as he starred at her chest and Hermione’s face contorted into one of confusion.

“What?” the sharpness of her voice was dampened by her own confusion. She tracked Ron’s eyes and looked down, freezing on spot when she realized where he was staring.

Harry’s hands balled into fists, a low hiss coming out between his clenched teeth as he glared at Ron and took a step forward. Ron didn’t deserve a magical hex – no, he deserved a good old-fashioned beating.

“Nothing,” Hermione said slowly, her hand catching Harry’s sleeve tightly and stopping him in his tracks. Her eyes rose back up to meet Ron’s and Harry did not miss the flash of anger and hurt that cut across them.

His arm twitched in her grip. It took all his self-control not to pull away from her and lunge across the table and strangle the red head for his blatant insensitivity. He wanted to, but he knew this was Hermione’s business, it was her fight and it was up to her to handle it. She didn’t need him to defend her. So, despite his burning anger he stayed where he was, leaning into her touch on his arm as a wave of pride flooded through him. He was immensely proud of her for not trying to cover up the mark or transfiguring the collar of her shirt. She shouldn’t have to – Ron was a fucking ignorant ass.

“That doesn’t look like nothing,” Ron said, still in shock and unable to look away.

“Keep looking at my chest and I’ll gouge your eyes out with my thumbs,” Hermione hissed at him, as her eyes narrowed into a death glare. Ron balked at her words and pried his eyes from her neck, instead refocusing on her eyes with concern. She dropped her hand from Harry’s arm and took two confident steps to her chair at the table. “I had a bad run-in – but it’s none of your fucking business.”

Ron’s eyes darted back to Harry’s as if for clarification, but they only widened when he saw Harry’s furious expression and balled fists. He swallowed. The seconds ticked by as Ron’s eyes flicked between the two of them – looking like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Then eventually, his eyes began to narrow. Hermione’s scar had distracted Ron from his previous train of thought and his anger with Harry – but now it was beginning to settle back into place. Ron’s face twisted into a look of disgust and unjustified hostility.

“Is it related to why you two _slept_ together last night?”

 _There it is_ , Harry thought caustically. _The only thing you actually want to know - y_ _ou don’t even truly give a shit about what happened to her do you?_

Ron spoke the words with such disdain it made Harry’s insides twist over. He was livid with them, with their closeness. He’d been fighting against acknowledging it since the moment he arrived because he was too nervous, too scared of them, and too desperate for their forgiveness to address it. He’d likely been attributing their behaviour to them being wary of his return – but after hearing them together last night he was running out of excuses. His insecurities had flared, and his anger was returning full force.

How Ron had foolishly thought that after seven months Hermione might still have an interest in him and that their dynamic would be the same was beyond Harry’s comprehension. And now he was desperate to know just how _close_ they really were, yet he still wouldn’t outright ask. The boy had been desperately hoping that Hermione sleeping in Harry’s bed wasn’t what he thought it might be – that maybe it was something else, _anything_ else. Though Harry suspected that now a part of Ron did hope that his worst fears were true because then he could feel _justified_ in his betrayal – then _he_ would be the victim.

The inevitable impending nuclear eruption was balanced on the edge of a knife and they had all but handed him the match.

Hermione pulled out her chair slowly, taking a seat and picking up the tea that Harry had prepared for her. She held it in both hands below her chin, comfortably taking in the warmth before she took a small sip.

“Eat your eggs Ronald,” she breathed, a tone of finality in her voice as she caught Ron’s eyes and fixed him with an even stare. “We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

_(to be continued…)_

-x-x-

Post note: if you are a Dramione fan I posted a new fic called Red Ink, it’s largely for my own amusement and enjoyment. Don’t worry though, this fic will be prioritized! Check it out if you want :) Or not, that’s cool too! You do you <3 and I will love you anyways


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Hr&H venture to Xenophilius’ house for answers, Ron goes too, and… well things get interesting.  
> 2\. Thank you for the wonderful comments and feedback on the last chapter. I may not know you, but you are important to me and greatly treasured.  
> 3\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and holy heck!! I can’t believe the kudos you humans are leaving, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3  
> Always.
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.  
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

[Happy belated Chinese New Year **Appleblossum24!** This Wednesday chapter is for you. 2020 is the year of the rat and is supposed to be the year of new beginnings – new opportunities for finding love, earning more money and being successful!]

A muffled pop echoed out into the damp mild air as three invisible bodies appeared at the edge of the forest on the East side of the Lovegood’s property. They were far enough away from the Burrow to avoid suspicion, and nowhere near what Hermione had expected was the traditional location for arriving at the Lovegood’s household – as now they had to cut across some unattractive terrain to get inside the wards. Though that was just a small sacrifice to be made, as their location provided good coverage of their arrival and multiple hiding places that would allow their newly acquired ‘lookout’ the opportunity to spy unnoticed. Though frankly she doubted that he would do much _looking out_ or add any value, or accomplish much of anything other than overdramatic brooding and ridiculous seething. She just hoped that the idiot would remember to apparate away if anyone _did_ show up.

She bit back an outward groan as Ron dropped her hand angrily with a jerking motion the second the ground stopped moving and they had safely arrived. It was no matter. She didn’t exactly _enjoy_ holding his sweaty hand and she had only done it so that she could bring them to their destination. She could hardly say that she was shocked or startled by the furious energy that seemed to be leaking from his body – but that didn’t mean that she thought it was justified. Breakfast had been tense, more than tense, it was like sitting inside a pressure cooker and it felt like having her brain pushed out through her ears. Ron had obviously heard her in Harry’s bed that morning when she woke the tent with her wand light – it wasn’t surprising, she knew it was bound to happen. Though she had hoped it wouldn’t happen the first night – and now he was livid. Yet, like Harry, she didn’t regret it. They needed sleep. End of story.

However, Ron being Ron, had refused to let the topic go. He may have audibly shut up when she denied him a response and sent him a death glare, but he was very clearly still fuming about it, overthinking it and waiting for a second opportunity to bring it up. In classic Ron fashion he refused to grow up and see the bigger picture, and once again Hermione found herself in a position where she could _understand_ his feelings, sort of, but she didn’t agree with them. She couldn’t stop the burning disgust and anger she felt over how he was handling his own voluntary return. The boy was moronic. How he could come back thinking that nothing had changed, that he would be welcomed after seven months, or that she would be excited to see him or even harbor anything more towards him than loathing distrust was insane. He was short sighted, stupid in his approach, immature, crude and completely unable to regulate his emotions or use the organ that rested between his ears and it made her sick with frustration.

 _Of course_ he would only focus on their relationship, of course he would gawk at her scars and make rude and ignorant comments. _Of course_ the boy would allow his rage and hurt to blind his ability to _think_ and try to see things from their perspective.

 _It's not like we’re in the middle of a war or anything,_ she thought caustically.

_Or like a psychopathic demon is chasing after us._

_Or like we are the only ones with the information required to win the war and defeat said demon._

_Or like the entire wizarding world is unknowingly depending on us to succeed._

_Fucking moron._

She eyed him from the corner of her vision when they landed. She didn’t need to be able to see him to know that he was still scowling in disgust or that his ears were still bright red with anger. She wondered how long her calm and stinted words at the breakfast table would keep him quiet for. At the time he’d dropped to his seat with a tightly clenched jaw, sat stiffly, and picked at his eggs until Harry kicked him out of the tent so he could pack everything up. Hermione had stood outside more than ten feet away from him, completely ignoring him while she charmed his ‘lookout’ coin. Once everything was packed, Hermione had quickly cast a disillusionment on them and then grabbed their hands firmly.

She looked out at the muddy marsh before her, her skin bristled in the light breeze that pulled across her face and she bit down a second angry groan.

 _This is a fucking mistake,_ she breathed.

They should have stunned him. They should have done something, _anything_ but brought him here. He was even more of a liability now than he was 12 hours ago when they sat around the small wooden table having awkward dinner. He was agitated, unfocused, angry, irrational and now he was about to be left _alone_ as a ‘lookout’ while she and Harry walked back out into the shit storm for the first time since Birmingham. Their situation was not good. She could feel the wrath radiating off of him in waves and it set her stomach and nerves on edge.

Something was going to happen, and it was going to be entirely his fault – except could she even blame him at this point? She knew the risk, as did Harry and yet they still brought him along because there just wasn’t a good solution to this problem. So how could she blame him if something happened? Failure was all she could expect of him anymore. He’d blamed them, abandoned them, disappointed them and constantly let them down over the years and then had capped that _glorious_ six year history off by fully deserting them last September. And since his return, he had done absolutely nothing to show any growth – neither physically nor emotionally.

 _And now we are fucked_.

It truly didn’t matter what they did now. It didn’t matter if they left him, brought him, returned him home or brought him to the cottage. She and Harry were completely and utterly fucked. She had briefly considered backing out of their plan to proceed after breakfast and leaving Ron with Arthur – she trusted him to keep Ron at home and in check. But the truth was that she did not trust Mrs. Weasley, and there was no way that Arthur could keep Ron hidden away for potentially months without her knowing. Not with that cursed clock anyways, Mrs. Weasley would know in a heartbeat if her son was being held captive in their own house, or anywhere for that matter. She should have hexed the blasted clock when she was at the Burrow the previous summer – but at the time she had not known that Mrs. Weasley’s son was going to walk out on them and leave them alone to fight the terrors of the war.

She had contemplated obliviating him to remove the critical information from his mind so that even if he did run off again, he wouldn’t be a risk. The problem there was that she lacked the skills to artfully pull out multiple occurrences of single concepts or memories that stretched out over lengths of time. She was well accomplished in removing blocks of time regardless of how far back she needed to go to get them. But to remove Ron’s memories of the Horcruxes specifically would be like trying to pull out multiple single threads from a complex, tight blanket weave without ruining the blanket.

She’d never done that before. Could she do it? Probably, but could she do it in an hour before going to Xenophilius’ so they could stick to the plan? No definitely not. She doubted she could even do it in a day. If she were to obliviate Ron now it would be noticeable, the person interrogating him would know and so would his family and she imagined that that would not go over well. She’d have to remove _months_ of memories from his head and that hadn’t seemed like the best idea either. So given the time constraints, she just added an extra charm to the coin and bit down her nervous anxiety.

No matter how she looked at it, it didn’t matter they did, Ron would find a way to ruin it. So, for the time being, until she either practiced her memory charm work or they found a better option – they would keep him close and babysit him, so he didn’t single handedly ruin the war efforts.

“This is your post,” she heard Harry say in a toneless voice to her right after he had cast several detection spells around them. She knew he was pointing to the tree line edge even though she couldn’t see it. “You have the coin?”

“Yes,” Ron’s voice was tight, angry – barely under control. It made her want to roll her eyes.

“Good. Remember, if you see anything – tap it twice and apparate back to the cliff.” Harry said as he stepped toward Hermione.

“Don’t forget to refresh your disillusionment charm either,” Hermione said quietly, keeping her hands clenched at her sides. “It will wear off after 10 minutes or so – I’m not sure how long we will be gone, but hopefully you won’t need to do it more than twice.”

Ron didn’t respond, she could feel him standing just a few feet away but aside from the awkward tension and angry vibes she got nothing in return. Hermione closed her eyes tightly as a fresh wave of stressful anxiety crept through her veins and she resisted the urge to punch his idiotic face. She wouldn’t miss – even with the disillusionment. She hated this. She hated that this was the situation she and Harry had found themselves in after all the training they had gone through. It was like life was truly determined to try and fuck them over.

“Cast a _muffiato_ on yourself as we discussed and don’t leave the tree line. Stay here – stay out of sight and keep your eyes open. We don’t know if there are any alarms that will summon snatchers – so be prepared to move and move fast.” Hermione said coldly. Honestly, she wasn’t sure why she was bothering, the dolt probably wasn’t listening to her anyways. “We’ll be back shortly.”

With that she turned on her heel and grabbed Harry’s hand, she could feel his presence at her side, and then she made her way out into the small marshy bog that covered the distance between them and the strange-looking house. It rose vertically against the dim morning sky, tall and straight, very unsimilar to the Burrow’s leaning and crooked structure. She often wondered if wizarding homes were always magical or if some of them were just charmed muggle homes. Though in the case of the Burrow and the Lovegood’s, she had no doubt that they were magically constructed from the ground up.

“How much longer do you have on your shield,” Harry whispered near her ear after they had cast a silencing charm around themselves and gotten a few steps away from their ‘lookout’.

“Seven minutes, then I’ll need to recast – Harry, Ron is going to pop. _This_ was a mistake.”

“I know, I’ve been thinking that since breakfast, but I couldn’t come up with a better idea at the time,” Harry squeezed her hand as they continued to squish their way through the soggy bog. They had been hoping that it would still be frozen from the winter, but it appeared the Southern late March weather was mild and had thawed it out some. “You were going to stun him this morning, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” she sighed, faltering only slightly to pull her foot from the suction of the mud. “I heavily considered it.”

“What stopped you?”

“Mrs. Weasley,” she groaned, as she continued to vanish their footsteps and silence their racket. “I was contemplating bringing him to Arthur – I trusted that he would keep Ron locked up somewhere safe with no questions asked until we came up with a better solution. But Mrs. Weasley would have found out and pitched a bloody fit I’m sure – so I decided against it. If I could trust Ron to stay put himself, which I _don’t_ , I would have brought him back to the cottage. If he was anyone else or had a single reasonable bone in his body, we could have arranged to go there and talk to him after this mission. Then we could have explained to him why he needs to stay there – but obviously that idea is just laughable.”

They both paused momentarily when they crossed through the wards. The unfamiliar tingle across her skin made her body feel like it was buzzing with a little cluster of friendly bumble bees. It was an unfamiliar sensation and not like any wards she had previously encountered – though she supposed it made sense given that Luna’s mother had created these entirely on her own. She would have been a curiously fascinating witch to meet. They waited for several seconds just inside the wards, prepared to dart backwards, prepared to defend or attack if necessary or if snatchers showed up – but nothing happened. Taking another tentative step forward they continued on.

“I added a second charm on the coin though as a back-up measure.” Hermione noted as she steadied Harry through a particularly mucky area.

“What did you add?”

“I added a small tracking charm to it, so as long as he keeps the coin on him, we can find him. It doesn’t work over great distances – I didn’t have the time to set up a full-scale trace – but Ron was never great with apparition anyway so I figured he wouldn’t get too far. Hypothetically, we should be able to find him if he runs off again.”

“Clever – so worst case, if we return to the tree line and he has abandoned us once again we can go collect him and _then_ bring him to Arthur.”

“Exactly, it was the best back-up measure I could come up with on the spot. Frankly it’s the only reason why I even considered proceeding with our original plan after what happened this morning. I’m just hoping he doesn’t manage to disapparate and get caught in the small amount of time we’re with Xenophilius.”

“Pfft,’ Harry snorted. Her fear wasn’t that farfetched, it was entirely plausible for Ron to get caught in less than fifteen minutes. “So, assuming he doesn’t leave – how bad do you think it will be when we get back and return to camp?”

“Bad – like nuclear warhead level of bad.” She spoke flatly with no emotion. “I’m not worried about him though, Harry – I don’t care that he’s upset.”

“You’re worried that you might do something,” Harry nodded alongside her and let out a breath of relief when they reached solid firm ground.

Their boots were covered in mud and it had tracked up their calves. A quick wave of his wand removed the majority of the mud, but their pants were still dirty. The rest would have to be managed with a warming charm on their legs as the stubborn mud was clearly reluctant to leave their skin. No surprise, given who’s house it was.

“Yes,” she admitted quietly.

It was true. She wasn’t afraid of Ron. In fact, the thought of being afraid of him almost made her laugh out loud. He’d wouldn’t even be able to _raise_ his wand let alone _cast_ anything at her before she disarmed him – possibly literally, and she wasn’t afraid of hurting him emotionally either. She didn’t care that he was upset or that his ego had been bruised. He was being immature and selfish while she and Harry had done nothing wrong. What she did care about though was two-fold: one, having a second and unnecessary death on her conscious; and two – most importantly, failing their mission. Pissing Ron off so much that he left for a second time and put them at risk because he would inevitably be caught was not something that she would tolerate. She’d be able to track him sure, the coin had a relatively decent range on it and they would be able to find him and return him to Shell Cottage or the Burrow – but it wasn’t like she and Harry could constantly pop all around Britain collecting Ron every time his feelings got hurt and he decided to run away out of embarrassment. Besides, even he would eventually figure out how they were finding him and then he would be a complete moron and throw out the coin.

This was the only reason why she had not confirmed his suspicions at breakfast and told him of their relationship. He would have undoubtably left and ruined their plans – and their mission was more important than Ron or his need for information that was none of his business. Whereas now, after denying him a response, she could at least hope he would hold it together for fifteen fucking minutes while they got what they needed. Then they could all return to camp and discuss the situation like rational adults, calmly and reasonably.

She snorted inwardly, that was a pipe dream if there ever was one. In reality it was much more likely that they would return to camp, Ron would blow up, and if she could manage not to kill him – which she was seriously beginning to doubt – he would disapparate. Either way though as long as she could defer it from happening until after this mission it gave them time to go collect him, drop him off to Arthur and then establish a new plan. Perhaps there was a way to convince Arthur and Mrs. Weasley that their son was a threat to the success of their mission. Perhaps she could even take some proper time to obliviate the specific memories from his mind over the course of a week or two. Though that was something they would work out later, for now she needed to stay focused on the task at hand and get what they needed from Xenophilius.

Harry gripped her hand tightly as if having read her mind. “Let’s get this done and over with and then we can figure out what to do.”

As they approached the broken-down front gate three signs came into view. They were all hand painted and at one point were bright in colour. The first read _‘The Quibbler. Editor: X. Lovegood’,_ the second: ‘ _Pick Your Own Mistletoe,’_ and the third _‘Keep Off the Dirigible Plums.’_

Cautiously, they made their way through the creaking gate, and down the zigzagging overgrown pathway to the front door. Hermione recognized one of the bushes that was still covered in small, thin, orange radish like fruit despite the cold – Luna occasionally wore them as earrings, though she did not know the name of the plant. She would have to remember to ask the girl if she ever managed to see her again. From the outside, the house appeared deserted and rather unkempt. It sort of looked like how Hermione felt on the inside and a small tinge of sadness edged through her body with the thought – they were not the only ones struggling with the war. Aside from the sleepy looking owl perched by the open window of a second-floor room, there was no sign of life around.

At the faint knock that echoed on the door Hermione knew that Harry had announced their presence. They waited in the damp, dim, cool air of the morning in silence. Her heart beating at a steady firm pace, while her muscles tensed in anticipation. She was nervous about speaking with another person, and even more nervous about going into unknown territory, but having the conversation on the doorstep wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. Despite this her instincts still scream against it, inside was dangerous, confined, limiting – not a good place if they needed to flee quickly.

After a long stretch of time Hermione began to wonder if they were too late, that perhaps Xenophilius has been taken and was being held elsewhere – or the much darker reality that he may already be dead. She was about to motion Harry to leave when she heard a thudding inside the house behind the door and watched in surprise as it was wrenched open by none other than a very disheveled and confused looking Xenophilius.

“Who’s there?” he whispered, his eyes darting around the empty space before him. He was barefoot despite the cold, and was wearing what seemed to be a thin, stained night shirt. His long white candyfloss hair was unkempt, almost as unruly as hers or Harry’s, and it was a far stretch of appearance since the last time they had seen him at the Burrow. Hermione cancelled their disillusionment charm with a twitch of her finger and watched as his eyes grew wide and he fell against the door frame in shock. It was very apparent that he recognized them.

“Mr. Lovegood,” Harry stated calmly, quietly, as his eyes warily searched the man before them. “May we come in?”

The man seemed incapable of speech, he clung to the door frame unmovingly until his head started to nod, the movements becoming faster and faster until finally he slipped from the doorframe and stumbled back into the house. His erratic behaviour was unnerving and Harry only clutched her hand more tightly as they pushed their way cautiously inside behind him and closed the door.

Xenophilius had stumbled back several feet into the kitchen. He stood before them, hand desperately clutching at the dirty kitchen table in the room before them. His eyes were twitching, and he seemed like he was struggling internally with something. His mouth would tremble, and he’d open it only for no sound to come out until his body quivered and he’d shut it again. He looked distressed, beyond distressed really, and the house looked like it had been torn apart in a fit of rage or by a band of Death Eaters. Unease settled across Hermione’s heart as she quickly took in their surroundings and she clutched her wand more tightly. She only had another 3 minutes left on her shield until she would need to recast it again – but more than anything else she just wanted to leave. It wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right and she knew that Harry felt it too. She wished she could speak to him without Xenophilius noticing so she could ask if he’d picked up on anything strange.

Finally, Xenophilius seemed to find his voice and he grimaced as he spoke. “Would you like to come up for tea? The living room is far more comfortable.”

“No thank you sir,” Hermione said slowly, her eyes never leaving his frame as she nudged Harry’s arm. “We only had a quick question we hoped to ask you.”

“Ah yes – yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, of course – of course. Please, have a seat here,” He stumbled his way along the table toward the cluttered kitchen counter and began pulling out tea mugs despite them having declined his offer. He grabbed a can of loose leave tea and poured it directly into the mugs, filling them with cold tap water as Hermione and Harry cautiously inched their way toward the table.

The room was in disarray. The cupboards, which looked to be previously painted bright primary colours, now looked dingey and grey, there were dishes everywhere and large collections of books and papers scattered across a side table and the floor. A dirty wrought iron staircase in the center of the room that lead to the upper levels was littered with clothes and each step was covered in papers. Hermione eyed everything with caution, her hand flinching as Xenophilius began banging around looking for what she could only imagine was the sugar container and her eyebrow raised a fraction when she watched him scoop empty spoonful’s into each cup. She and Harry exchanged a wary look, the glass jar was completely empty – but Xenophilius did not seem to take notice. This man was damaged and deranged.

“Sir, I wanted to ask you about the symbol you wore around your neck at Bill and Fleur’s wedding this past summer – the triangle with the circle in the middle. Can you tell us what it means?” Harry asked quickly, he was just as uncomfortable as she was and wanted to get this over with.

Xenophilius froze at the counter and his body rattled once more. It looked like he was straining against something and Hermione’s chest began to grow tighter with fear. _Are those tremors as an aftereffect of extreme cruciatus torture? What happened to him?_

Something was very wrong with this man. Turning slowly, Xenophilius carried over three cups of cold water and tea leaves and set them on the kitchen table before them. His face was strained into a tight and ridiculously phony smile, though his arched eyebrow of curiosity did seem to be genuine. It was like his body was acting spastically.

“Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?” and he reached a hand up to pull out the necklace that lay under his dirty night shirt.

“Yes, sir – that symbol. What are the Deathly Hallows?” Harry continued, hoping to stay on point and end this quickly.

The first honest emotion, aside from curiosity and fear, slid across Xenophilius’ face in the form of a smile. He sat down carefully at the table and clutched his mug tightly in his hands then motioned across the table to the vacant seats. Harry inched forward to an empty chair across from him, pulling Hermione with him by the hand, and sat awkwardly. Both of them perched on the edge of their seat uncomfortably and prepared to bail at a moment’s notice.

“I suppose I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of it – as not many wizards believe. Witness that knuckle-headed young man at the wedding who attacked me for wearing it – claiming I was sporting the symbol of a dark wizard! Hah! Such ignorance – there is nothing dark about the Deathly Hallows, at least not in that sense. Wearing the symbol is simply a way to reveal oneself to other believers.”

He took a sip of the disgusting cold brew he clenched in his hands like a lifeline and seemed completely unaware of it being cold – or that his lips were now covered in soggy bits of tea leaves. Though Hermione felt it was best not to point it out.

“And what is it that you believe?” she asked quietly, watching the way the man continued to almost vibrate at the table. “What does the symbol represent?”

“That you believe in the Deathly Hallows,” Xenophilius stated obviously, he seemed confused by her question and he gave them another pained smile. “The symbol simply represents the Hallows.”

“What _are_ the Hallows?” Harry asked more bluntly, and at that surprise crossed the man’s face.

“Are you not familiar with the Tale of the Three Brothers?”

Harry frowned and Hermione did as well. Of course they were. They’d read it several times over the course of the last seven months. Every time they opened Dumbledore’s copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard they came across the tale – it was just a story, one of many in a children’s book. A children’s book that Hermione still had no idea why Dumbledore had left to them.

“Yes,” Harry said tightly, his hand still firmly holding Hermione’s. They would both need to recast their shield in a moment.

“Well that story contains the Deathly Hallows – it is about them.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry said slowly.

Xenophilius jerked up from the table with a violent shudder, causing Hermione and Harry to flinch and raise their wands. They watched as he scrambled from his seat toward the table in the corner that contained a mountain of papers and began rooting around.

“Recast your shield,” Harry muttered and Hermione only nodded in response.

They both recast their shields while Xenophilius continued to rustle with the books, muttering to himself and seemingly completely unaware of the purple flash behind him that signified the successful implementation of their spell. The anxious anticipation that had been plaguing Hermione since the moment they left the safety of their campsite was growing and was now beginning to rattle her nerves beyond what she was capable of dealing with. _Something_ was fucking wrong. Everything in this house was wrong, and the man before them seemed to be out of his mind and at odds with his body. He’d clearly been ransacked, tortured, harassed and Merlin knows what else. Suddenly he turned back toward them with a wide grin, a blank piece of paper and a quill clutched tightly in his hand. He made his way back to the table on unsteady feet and slapped the page down against the dirty surface.

“Yes, yes, yes, the Deathly Hallows – see, do you see them now?” He started to draw the familiar symbol as he named each shape he sketched. “The Cloak of Invisibility – the Resurrection Stone – the Elder Wand – and together these three pieces make the Deathly Hallows.”

He looked rather pleased with himself, as if he had just bestowed some invaluable knowledge upon them as another much more violent shiver ran through his body and his hand clenched hard around the quill as if he were in pain.

“The book doesn’t name those as the Deathly Hallows,” Hermione said cautiously, she’d pushed back in her seat to gain more distance from the wreck of a man before them.

“Of course not – it’s a children’s tale,” He breathed, another violent shudder running through him as he clenched his teeth and gripped the table’s surface. “It isn’t meant to instruct. But together, these three elements make one the master of death.”

“Does the Peverell family have anything to do with this story?” Hermione asked after a moment’s pause. She’d been wondering why the symbol showed on the headstone in the cemetery and now seemed like as good a time as any to ask – since she wasn’t really sure exactly what Xenophilius was getting at.

“Well of course!” Xenophilius looked rather taken aback by her question as his hand started to shake against the table more frequently. “They have _everything_ to do with it – they are the three brothers: Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus! They were the original owners of the Hallows, the wand, the cloak of true invisibility – not some charmed disillusionment fabric or bedazalling hex – I mean a cloak which truly allowed for invisibility, and the resurrection stone! The stone that can return life to the dead. But let me assure you young witch, that this is no mere _story_.”

“Wait – you’re saying that these exist?” Harry said in disbelief.

At that moment the door to the house slammed open and Ron trudged inside. Xenophilius jumped at the noise and then began to quiver continuously as his hands gripped at the fabric of his night shirt. Hermione and Harry had leapt up from their seat at the sound, wands raised at the boy and eyes livid.

“ _What_ are you doing in here?” Hermione hissed, her eyes flicking between the redhead before her and the grown man to her right who looked like he was having a full body convulsion. _Is he seizing? Is this how bad convulsions can get from extended torture? What the fuck did they do to him?_ Questions circled her head rapidly, but she bit them down and refocused on Ron, feeling her rage expanding beyond her control. “You’re supposed to be our lookout!”

“Yeah?! Well I got tired of waiting for you and not knowing what the bloody hell is going on! Being a lookout? Seriously?! How stupid do you think I am? It’s a bullshit job and you know it! So why don’t we cut the crap and –“ Ron froze, his gaze had latched onto their interlaced fingers, his eyes turning furious as he eyed the nonexistent space between them. “ _Why_ are you holding hands AGAIN?!”

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me, Ron?!” Harry groaned as he rolled his eyes and his grip tightened on his wand. “It’s so we don’t get separated and in case we need to apparate away you fucking idiot! Now get outside!”

“No! I want to know what the _fuck_ is going on!” Ron yelled, stepping forward into the kitchen and starting to close the distance between the three of them. “And don’t you fucking lie to me you backstabbing bastard!”

“Alright that’s enough!” Hermione raised her wand to his face, intending to stun him and put an end to this absurd confrontation. _Fuck it – Arthur can have him AND I’ll obliviate him_.

“I’m s-s-sorry!” Xenophilius wailed as he collapsed to the ground and his entire body began to writher. Hermione’s eye’s darted to him and she twitched, torn between stunning Ron and attempting to help the man. “G-G-G-Go! GO! You must go! I tried! – I’m s-sorry.”

“Tried what?” Ron asked stupidly, pausing in his steps to stare at the convulsing man in confusion at the same time Hermione froze, her brain processing Xenophilius’ words before he had even finished speaking them.

In an instant, everything clicked, it was like the pieces of the puzzle had finally fallen into place and Hermione’s eye’s widened in understanding. Why the house felt so strange, why everything was so disgusting and neglected – why Xenophilius had been shaking and twitching. Why his body seemed out of sync and bizarre. Why it seemed like he had been fighting against something since the moment they arrived on his doorstep.

It was because he had been, it wasn’t _just_ tremors – he was fighting against the wards, against an _imperius_ curse – but he was no longer able to.

“GET OUT NOW!” she screamed, pulling Harry and diving forward.

The side of the house exploded, large chunks of stone and wood shot like shrapnel through the house as the sound of the blast threatened to burst their ear drums. Hermione rolled to the side, electing to drop Harry’s hand to avoid being hit by the iron staircase that flew over her. Her shield would have held against the blow, it had already protected her from several large pieces of stone and wood – she knew that. But it wasn’t like they could apparate from the house anyways so she would rather save the strength of her shield for when she truly needed it. Besides, they would both need as much agility as possible to make their way outside – they’d been launched to the back corner of the house and burning wreckage and debris stretched between them and the only exit.

With a quick and disoriented glance around her, her stomach lurched. The house looked like a war zone, like it had just been bombed and set on fire and her ears were ringing. Smoke and dust filled the air and to her right she could barely make out Xenophilius laying on the floor, a pool of blood around his head and a large stick of wood protruding out from his thigh. Whether or not he was dead or just unconscious she did not know. For Luna’s sake she hoped it was the latter. Papers were scattered and falling everywhere around them as burning debris began to pour from the levels above them. The house groaned deeply, a creaking sound emanating from the base and echoing up to the walls to the floors above.

 _It’s going to collapse_ , her heart stuttered in her chest.

She crawled to her knees, only to immediately fling herself to the side to avoid a spell that shot from above. Her breath came in pants as she coughed against the smoke and peered around her once more – more only to see half a dozen black cloaked figures appearing around the house. She could barely make out their yelling. She couldn’t see Ron – his body must have been blasted off beside her or possibly out into the yard. The reality that he might not have survived the explosion without a shield did not escape her as she rolled toward the exit. She knew that Harry was just off to her left and was making his way there already. Turning quickly, she managed to avoid another attack and countered by slicing open the first black cloaked figure that she saw. She could just make out his strangled cries in the confusion as she clambered over the rubble and desperately made her way to the light from the opening in the side of the house.

“Get outside!” she screamed again, she knew that Harry would know what to do but at the back of her mind she knew that Ron, if he was still breathing, would panic. She hoped that he might hear her direction and at least make an _attempt_ at escape. She couldn’t say she was worried about him – she was just worried about him getting caught.

Running through the burning books and shattered glass around her she saw what she could only assume was Harry tumbling through the opening before her and narrowly missing a stunning spell. The silent return fire through the opening was undoubtably his and she heard the scream of another faceless black cloaked man as he blasted hard into the remains of the wall behind them.

 _Our shields will hold! Our shields will hold! We will have enough time!_ She repeated the words in her head like a mantra as she ran and dodged and scrambled across the uneven ground while sending counter attacks behind her. They would be able to get away, they just needed to avoid the barrage of spells that were being hurled at them until they could get past the wards and apparate to safety – and with their shield they could even handle a few hits.

She ducked as chains flew past her head and frowned. Why were they attacking with binding chains? Two steps more and she pulled herself through the opening where the door used to be. She rolled, ducking the hex that flew over her head from behind and remained low in a bear crawl as she moved toward Harry. He launched a string of counterattacks over her to give her cover as she made her way over the glass and broken stone that littered the yard. She had just popped back up to her feet to launch yet another attack when she saw a struggling figure in the arms of the large man exited the house behind her.

_FUCK!_

“LEMME GO!” Ron was kicking against the tall thick body of Fenrir Greyback, and it was a sad and futile effort to behold. His eyes were wide, his wand was already captured and his face was red with wasted efforts as he screamed – but apparently, he wasn’t dead yet.

Loud popping sounds rang out around her and behind her – she gasped in shock as thick arms wrapped around her waist and a hairy hand closed around her wand hand.

_They have apparition permission through the wards!_

Her body reacted on instinct, she drove her head backwards and smashed the face of the man who had grabbed her off the ground. Her vision swirled as she managed to tug her wand free from his grasp with the distraction. Her shield was still active, it was fading, but with it still in place she could slice the man open behind her without risking her own safety – and that was exactly what she did. The sickening sound of flesh splitting open behind her rang through her ears as she dropped to the ground. She heard the heavy thump of the body fall, she could feel the heat from his blood seeping into the back of her jacket as her shield gave a final flicker and then faded completely.

Apparently, it wasn’t based solely on duration – it also depending on usage, and she’d been pummeled only seconds ago by varying amounts of debris. They’d never tested their shields to this extent before, she hadn’t known how a constant barrage of attacks would affect it. She fell to her knees once free from the man behind her and raised her wand.

“STOP! Or I kill your friend!”

The words echoed out across the remains of Xenophilius’ yard and Hermione instantly stilled, her wild eyes flashing as she looked for Harry, he couldn’t have been caught – and a quick glance confirmed that he wasn’t. At least not exactly. Harry was standing frozen on spot to her left and there were two wands pointed directly at his temple by two very angry looking snatchers. Harry was eyeing them from the corner of his vision and his wand was twitching in his hand. His long shaggy hair had slid from his ponytail during the explosion and it hung down just past his shoulders as a dirty, slightly matted mess from the battle. It was coated with what she could only assume was Xenophilius’ blood and it hung over part of his face – and his glasses seemed to be missing. They must have been broken in the explosion.

It was, of course, Ron that the threat had been made about. Fenrir stood more than ten feet away, his hand now wrapped tightly around Ron’s throat, his nails were digging into the boy’s skin and turning his words into strangled cries of pain. His wand was pointed to the redhead’s temple and a sick look of joy covered his face. He could give Bellatrix a run for her money.

Two more men stood before her similar to Harry, their wands were aimed at her face as she breathed heavily, wand shaking in her grip as her eyes darted dangerously between them – assessing every possible option for how to continue. Yet the only conclusion that she seemed able to reach was that they were out-numbered and handicaped – and they were thoroughly fucked.

Her heart raced within her chest as she rapidly ran the scenarios. If she attacked one of the men before her the second would surely kill or stun her. She no longer had a shield for protection and at this close of range it was unlikely that the snatchers would miss in their counterattack. She doubted that Harry still had his shield either, so if he attacked the first man beside him the second would counter him as well.

While she and Harry were fast and could produce an impressively quick succession of spells, she doubted that even they could launch _two_ consecutive attacks at _two_ different targets that were more than four feet apart, _without_ suffering a counter blow when their attacker’s wands were mere inches from their faces. They had never practiced attacking two separate targets at once and they had not anticipated being surrounded so extensively without having their shields engaged.

With both of them being so closely held at wand point they would not be able to disarm or neutralize every opponent around them without getting injured – therefore the only way they could successfully attack would be to recast their shields first before attacking. If she and Harry quickly re-cast their shields, they would be able to reengage in battle and attack effectively – but before they got anywhere near Ron, Fenrir would kill him or apparate him away for questioning. Hermione paused in her analysis as she examined that point.

 _No,_ she thought. _If they were going to kill Ron, they would have done it_ already.

The threat on his life was a ploy, a tactic to get them to stop fighting because they were wanted for questioning – desperately so by the looks of it. She and Harry had killed how many of their men so far? Three? Four? She’d lost count because it wasn’t an important detail and yet everything that these snatchers had thrown at them thus far wasn’t lethal. Every spell in the onslaught was stunners, chains, binding curses and leglockers. Not a single deadly or dangerous curse had been hurled their way despite the fact that she and Harry had blatantly dismembered members of their team.

Perhaps it was because Xenophilius had delayed them? Perhaps these men were under orders from someone of a much higher rank and were bound to follow directions? Maybe they weren’t allowed to harm potential captives? Or maybe she and Harry were assumed to be valuable captives? Or, and she hoped this wasn’t the case, they knew _exactly_ who they were.

Harry must have realized this too, and it was the only reason why he was currently unmoving. He was calculating. The blatant visible anger and frustration across the faces of the snatchers before them was just more proof on the matter – _something_ was holding them back, something far more powerful than their own willpower or preferences. Really the only remaining question was: _did_ they actually know who Harry was? It was the only question that mattered now.

She had no doubt in her mind now that Fenrir, regardless of what he _wanted_ to do, would not kill Ron. At least not yet. And that meant that their worst fear of him being captured and exposing their secret mission was coming true. She could feel the tightness across her chest return as her jaw clenched further. Everything was unravelling, everything was falling apart.

They would take Ron away and they would tear through his mind in exactly the way that they had anticipated. It didn’t matter that Hermione and Harry could simply recast their shields, disengage and make a run for the wards – they would make it, she didn’t have a doubt in her mind about that, but it still did not solve the problem. The problem was _Ron_. Regardless of what she and Harry did from this point forward Ron would be taken in for questioning, and as a result their mission would fail – their chances of defeating _you know who_ would instantly decrease from low to impossible.

Her anger burned as her eyes flicked back to Ron who was struggling feebly against Fenrir’s firm grip while he looked at her desperately and tried to call out. He looked scared.

They had been outmatched and their loss was entirely his fault. She wondered if he even had the capacity to realize it – or if he was still completely ignorant to the giant chasm that was the difference in their skill. Had he seen the man behind her slice in half? Did he know that she’d done it? The worst part of everything was knowing that had Ron not been here she and Harry would have already been back to the safety of the North. Instead, they stood at a standstill while they weighed their options. She re-ran the scenarios once more in her head to confirm, and she drew the same conclusion. There was only one solution to this problem.

They surrender and submit themselves to whatever questioning might come, all while looking for a future opportunity to escape together. If she attempted to kill or obliviate Ron now, thereby cutting their losses so that she and Harry could escape safely – it wouldn’t work. Once she cast the spell she’d be instantly stunned. Harry would have to cast a shield charm at the exact moment she made her strike and then he would have to battle all four remaining snatchers _and_ Fenrir _and_ collect her body _and_ escape. Besides – she didn’t have a clear shot at Ron from their position, and she couldn’t cast _obliviate_ without moving her wand. It would be a dead giveaway. If she shielded first Fenrir would leave. They could track Ron’s coin, maybe depending on how far they went, but by the time they got to him they’d have already started the interrogation. Ron was weak minded. It wouldn’t take long for them to find what they wanted.

Her eyes flicked to Harry’s and she caught his for a split second before looking away – but in that brief moment she saw it. He knew it too. He had concluded the _exact_ same thing that she did, and from the small shake of his head he confirmed that his aim of Ron was obstructed by the snatchers before him. He did not have a clean shot. If he attempted a strike it would miss, and Fenrir would apparate away while the remaining snatchers attacked.

They were done.

She let out a low sigh, and at the sound she could see Harry’s shoulders lower and his face tightened. She’d just told him that she couldn’t do it either, not without running the same risk that he would if he were to try it. Slowly, they both began lowering their wands, only to have the snatchers before them rip them out of their hands.

“Good,” the taller dark-haired snatchers before her said, though his body didn’t relax in the slightest. He continued to eye her with a combination of disgust and wariness. “Two on each person, don’t lower your wands for a damn second – you saw what they did. I want them bound and silenced! NOW!”

Tight bindings of rope formed around her middle, forcing her arms to her sides and restricting her breathing into tight shallow gasps. Two silencing spells rang out across the cool morning air as she and Harry were grabbed roughly by the back of the neck. She would no longer be able to obliviate Ron or cast her shield – she’d not managed to master those wandlessly. She could still disarm and attack the snatchers sure, but why bother? They would need to wait until they could get their hands on Ron, literally, and then make an attack or immediate escape.

“Alright,” The taller snatcher called out once he deemed that Hermione and Harry were sufficiently restrained. His eyes never left her, his wand never moved from her forehead as she felt the wand from the second snatcher dig into her shoulder blades. “To the Manor _NOW_! I want to know who the FUCK these people are and why the hell Xenophilius felt the need to prevent our arrival for so long!”

Hope split across her chest at his words and she forced herself to maintain a resigned expression.

_So they don’t know who Harry is!_

There was still a chance that they could escape without it being found out – they just need a second, just a blip in their concentration or an opening outside of anti-apparition wards to do it.

Suddenly a familiar tug pulled behind her naval and she felt her body being apparated roughly. The air in her lungs compressed and she felt like she was choking on her tongue from the pressure of the ropes across her chest. When the violent twisting world finally slowed, she staggered. This man, whoever he was, was terrible at side along apparition and the binding ropes nearly made her pass out. She was lucky she hadn’t been splinched in the process. Before a millisecond had passed, before she could even process a single thought or realize that it was raining, she was shoved roughly through a large metal gate and she stumbled to her knees on the muddy gravel path. She felt her skin scrape open at the contact, only to be ripped up violently by the snatcher who held her firmly by the neck.

“On your _fucking_ feet bitch!” the man behind her hissed in her ear.

She clenched her jaw, burying the anger that coursed through her as she was shoved roughly forwards. Despite the disorientation from the choppy apparition she had not missed the tingle that touched her skin as she crossed the gate.

 _More anti-apparition wards_.

They were not going anywhere.

She turned her head to glance at Harry. He was grimacing now as well, he’d obviously noticed the ward too – unlike Ron who just continued to struggle stupidly against a man two times his size who could rip his throat out physically with minimal energy. They hadn’t silenced him – which was curious, maybe they did not view him as a threat. She moved awkwardly along the path, her soaked and muddy shoes scuffing across the wet gravel as the snatcher behind her seemed to take joy in pushing her forwards abruptly and pulling her back roughly. If the opportunity came up – she would kill him too.

Meanwhile the taller snatcher who seemed to be some sort of leader stayed at her side and never looked away.

After several more jerky steps she glanced back to Harry once more, his wet long and disheveled hair was hiding his scar, it hung down his face and her heart began to thump quickly. These idiots had been distracted by the battle, by the fact that Xenophilius had protected them and prevented their arrival – they had not searched them for any identification or asked them anything, and Harry looked _nothing_ like his wanted photo. Neither did she for that matter. But whoever was in charge of this initiative would – and they would instantly know that this was Harry despite the grimy appearance. Dread filled her heart as a new wave of panic hit. She could taste the bile at the back of her throat.

 _No! No, no, no, no, no, NO!_ she thought desperately, tears stinging at the corner of her eyes. She felt like she was being stabbed in the chest. _This can’t be happening_. _They cannot have him! THEY CANNOT HAVE HIM! I WILL NOT LET THEM! He will not die, HE WILL NOT DIE!! I won’t fucking let it happen!_

Without a second thought she allowed the sharp shove from the snatcher behind her to throw her off balance. She directed her stumble to the side, rolling her ankle in the process and trying to fall toward Harry. The snatcher behind her yelled and tightened his grip on her neck, his nails digging deeply into her skin – but not before her head tapped Harry’s shoulder and she sent a silent stinging jinx at his down turned face. She was jerked back upright roughly as Harry then stumbled and fell to his knees.

“Get her away from him!” the taller snatcher yelled, and she was immediately pulled backwards into the other snatchers tight grip. “Get him up! What the fuck happened?!”

Harry had not made a sound as he fell, despite the undeniable sting of the spell, and his body remained tense as he was pulled up from the ground roughly by his own two snatchers.

“I don’t know Scabior – he must have just tripped over her?” Harry’s large snatcher said, though his expression looked fearful.

“Well move him forward, keep them apart – I don’t want to take any chances. Xenophilius tried to shelter them for over 10 minutes – so they must be someone.”

“Alright, alright – I got him okay,” the large snatcher mumbled as he shoved Harry forward in front of Hermione and maintained a strong grip on him.

Greyback continued at the front of the procession, seemingly indifferent to the struggles behind him and drawing amusement from tormenting Ron and making him squirm in pain. Hermione could hear his low growl of a chuckle each time Ron let out a desperate cry. They continued on for another long minute, the heavy rain soaking through her clothes and causing her hair to stick to her face, until they rounded a collection of trees and a large Manor came into view. Hermione’s heart plummeted. She felt a wave of sickness wash over her.

 _We should have just left him_. Fear gripped her soul as her waterlogged limps were forced forward through the mud and nails bit into her neck. _We should have risked it – I should have sent him back – I should have just obliviated it all – Anything, I should have done anything!_

They had been brought to Malfoy Manor, and they were fucked. Completely. Utterly. Fucked.

_(to be continues…)_

-x-x-

I put this note at the end because I thought more people may see it this way and it is important to me that you do. This week, my fic crossed over 1000 kudos and honestly, I’m speechless…

I don’t know what to say. All I can say is thank you.

Thank you so much for reading this story and also for taking the time to leave me kudos and comments. It is impossible for me to put into words just how much this means to me and there is no way for me to ever properly thank each of you or show you my gratitude for your support and kind words. I’m not the type of person to cry (ever) yet I would be lying if I said that seeing this fic cross over 1000 kudos didn’t make my heart beat painfully in my chest for a moment while my eyes watered.

So, thank you for letting me share this fic with you, thank you for reading and thank you for sticking around as I continue to let this grow beyond what I could have ever anticipated. It may not seem like much to some people out there, but it is huge to me.

When I write at the top of each chapter that I love each and every one of you I mean it, from the bottom of my heart <3

TT


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hey Fam! Early update because I have forgot I have stuff to do this weekend. ENJOY!**
> 
> 1\. Hr&H (and Ron) are brought to Malfoy Manor where we encounter our favourite blonde Death Eaters. I apologize in advance for this chapter and what will happen as it isn’t exactly pleasant. But, it is supposed to make you angry. It isn’t fair – because life isn’t fair and often the people who most deserve to be chastised aren’t. It is meant to be awful, it is meant to be sad. Though I do promise you that it will start to be addressed in the next chapter.  
> 2\. As always, thank you for taking the time to leave me comments – I look forward to them and smile reading each and every one. I’m sorry this chapter is a bit longer… I thought about slicing it in half then decided fuck it. I think it reads better together. so I hope you don't mind running a 10k  
> 3\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and thank you so much for the kudos you are leaving!
> 
> Know that you are loved <3 Always.
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> \- Torture, blood, cutting, screaming, punches, unpleasant things.  
> (I’m sorry :( I know this will upset some of you)
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

Harry stood rigid before the large wooden doors of the Manor, even without his glasses he could tell that the doors were solid, thick, expensive and laced with intricate details. In the dim, rainy morning light he could make out what seemed to be more than two dozen different windows just on the left side of the mansion – this place was _huge_. It was no wonder that Draco was such a pompous arrogant asshole. Growing up in a fucking castle while being told every day that you are better than everyone else around you would inevitably result in you becoming a giant prick. He kept his eyes down cast, only sneaking glances from behind the curtain of sopping wet dirty hair that hung down over his now contorted face. It stung. It stung like a bitch – but he wished that he could have hugged Hermione for her brilliant quick thinking. He’d been trying to figure out what to do from the moment they arrived, but it was impossible to hex oneself in the face with a stinging jinx.

Now, at least the scar on his forehead was hidden and he wasn’t walking around like a billboard advertising who he was. And given that fact that his head wasn’t exploding with agony he figured it was safe to assume that Voldemort wasn’t around today. At least not yet. They might yet still have a small chance at getting away if they could survive questioning and watched for an opening. And thankfully, his glasses had been smashed in the explosion so that also helped to make him less recognizable – though not being able to see clearly would handicap his ability to fight if they engaged in another skirmish. It was part of the reason why he had indicated to Hermione that there was no way he could have hit Ron – with his poor vision and blocked aim it was an impossible task. Frankly he was astounded that he’d been as proficient as he had been at Lovegood’s – if he wasn’t so inherently familiar with Hermione’s body, and the way she moved and dodged in liquid fashion he might have accidentally hit her in the battle.

Ron, the absolute fucking moron who he planned to deal with the second they got out of here, was still struggling against Greyback – though the majority of his noises now gurgled deep at the back of his throat. He could see the odd kick of the boy’s legs before him as Greyback knocked heavily on the great wooden doors. Silently, Harry hoped that Ron would just choke himself out, maybe even suffocate. It would spare him the turmoil of obliviating or killing the asshat later. Though he doubted he would be so lucky. Life didn’t work like that for him and Hermione – life would take everything that it could from them and leave them broken, beaten and battered.

He couldn’t see Hermione anymore, she was still behind him, being kept a few feet back from him, but he knew that the disgusting piece of trash that held her was enjoying it far too much. He clenched his hands at his sides and took another shallow breath. The ropes around him burned at the flesh that they touched, he could feel it against his wrists and across his collar. He wondered if Hermione’s were the same. He wished he could talk to her – he wished that they had a way to communicate silently, it was something that he would ask her about if they didn’t die in the next few hours.

Finally, the door opened, and he could make out the slender frame of someone standing in the dim light of the entrance way though he didn’t know who it was.

 _Fucking bullshit eyesight_.

“What is this?” the voice was female, it was familiar, though he’d only heard it a few times. He wracked his brain and squinted his eyes in its direction. “Where did you find them?”He wracked his brain as

“They were visiting our _dear friend_ Xenophilius,” Scabior spoke from behind Harry. “Though for some reason – he felt the need to try and keep that secret. So, we collected them up and brought them in – as _instructed_.”

Harry noticed the bitterness in the man’s voice at the last word. He’d suspected that these men were operating under the direct orders of someone else, they had to have been, otherwise they would have been hurling more than stunners during their fight. Now it had been confirmed and clearly, they were not too happy about it.

“Is this _all_ of them – or did you leave any _behind_?” the words were harsher, colder, as if asking something slightly different than the words spoken.

Greyback growled. “You know damn well we can’t Narcissa – you fucking made sure of that didn’t you.”

“It was only these three,” Scabior ignored Greyback and took a step forward. “Still in one piece, as directed – though we lost _four_ of our men because of you. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“The guidelines for processing young captives isn’t your job, Scabior,” Narcissa spoke in a clipped tone, her words echoing out harshly into the rain. “Your role is to collect and not ask questions – it is the order of the Dark Lord, if you are unhappy with it, I suggest you take it up with him _directly_.”

Silence filled the space between the snatchers as Narcissa stood firmly in the doorway for a long moment before she stepped aside and opened the door fully.

“Into the front drawing room, on your right – remove their silencing, and then you’ll receive your payment.”

Harry’s feet moved forward from the rough shove against his neck and he passed through the door behind Ron. As he moved past Narcissa he cocked his head to the side and took her in. She was well dressed, tall, looking as regal as ever, and she was staring at him with a blank expression, her eyes following him through the door. The front entry way was large, but it was nothing in comparison to the room on the right that he was shoved into behind Ron.

Morning light began to shine in through the windows and it highlighted the spotless dark wooden floors, a glowing fireplace, a large glittering chandelier and several sitting chairs and bookshelves. If not for the fact that they were in Draco Malfoy’s house – the place where Voldemort spent a good majority of his time, he might have considered the home nice, well decorated even. Though given the situation it just felt cold, foreboding and it smelt of lingering death.

 _How many others have been brought here?_ He wondered as he was shoved forward some more to stand in line next to Ron.

His eyes flicked to Hermione once he was turned back to face the doorway, he was able to see her limping into the room and he felt his anger flare once more. The disgusting pig who held her had his arm wrapped far too possessively around her waist, it was too low on her hips and he looked like he was enjoying holding her close against him. It made Harry’s stomach roll, but he kept his jaw clenched carefully shut despite the fact that the silencing charm had been removed. They were still outnumbered, wandless, and unable to apparate to safety. Now was not the time to do anything rash and reacting would only put Hermione in more danger.

Narcissa followed behind her and closed the door to the room. “Who do we have?”

“We don’t know _who_ yet,” Scabior said bitterly. “In case you forget what I just fucking said – they took out _FOUR_ of our men, snapping them like twigs! We were more focused on disarming them and bringing them here than interrogating them.”

“Well then, perhaps you should look for better recruits if three teenagers can overpower you in a matter of minutes.”

Greyback growled and his hand tightened on Ron’s neck. “You didn’t see what they did, they _obliterated_ them.”

“Well it’s no matter now,” she cut him off quickly and stepped forward. Her blank eyes never left Harry as she spoke. “We’ll get this sorted out and –“

The door to the room burst open and a small cackle filled the air. Harry felt his blood run cold. He _knew_ that laugh. He heard it in the back of his head every time he thought of Sirius.

“Oh Cissy, what a wonderful collection we have here today,” Bellatrix’s dark whisper filled the room and Harry felt the snatcher behind him tense. She made her way across the space to stand before them, her eyes devouring them like they were a delicious meal before they began to widen with visible excitement. “I’ve asked your dear husband to join us – and from what I see so far… this looks like a promising bunch.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves Bellatrix,” Narcissa said, her gaze flickering between her sister to the door as her husband slowly entered. Lucius made his way over to the fireplace and leaned heavily against it, the way his body sagged made Harry think he might have been injured. “We haven’t _confirmed_ who they are yet.”

“Oh please!” Bellatrix laughed with a bark that made half the room flinch. “ _They_ might be idiots, but I am NOT! This, my dear sister, is them. I know it is, I can _feel_ it… the trio – a red head, a dirty _mudblood_ with hair like a wretched beast’s and – Potter. Our _golden_ boy. We shall call the Dark Lord and we shall be rewarded for turning him over –“

“Absolutely not,” Narcissa cut her off and stepped forward. Her next words were hissed in a low whisper though she kept her face indifferent. “Do you forget what happened last week Bellatrix! We will not call the Dark Lord until we are _certain_ – or this time he will not be so forgiving.”

Bellatrix scowled but the fear in her eyes was evident, she rolled her eyes to play it off and tossed her hair over her shoulders. “Fine, Cissy – always so proper and _diligent_ – then what do you suggest we do.”

“I was just about to search them,” Narcissa replied stiffly, moving toward Hermione as she started patting her down and casting summoning spells. Her purse was the first thing to be collected and Narcissa opened it curiously before continuing the remainder of her search.

“We could summon Draco,” Lucius offered quietly from the fireplace, he was attempting to keep his voice powerful and strong, but he appeared completely the opposite. “He did attend school with them for six years – I have no doubt that he would be able to identify them.”

“I will summon him,” Narcissa nodded, her hands moving quickly over Hermione’s small frame. “We can summon Severus as well.”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Bellatrix hissed as she moved before Harry and grabbed his face. “Summon Draco, but leave _him_ out of it!”

Harry clenched his jaw, biting back the urge to snap at her fingers with his teeth and glaring at her as she pushed his dirty hair back from his face and tried to peer at his forehead. Her hands were frigid like death and her nails dug into his skin as she tried to smooth out the wrinkles across his forehead to see if there was a scar.

“What happened to his face?” Bellatrix ignored her sister’s movement toward Ron as she continued her search, bypassing Harry while Bellatrix inspected him.

“I don’t know,” Scabior said stiffly. “He wasn’t like that when we caught him, something must have happened when we apparated.”

“ _Useless_ ,” Bellatrix snarled as she shoved Harry’s head back against the large snatcher behind him and turned to glare at her sister who was now moving over to inspect Harry. She looked livid as her wand twitched anxiously in her hand and she circled before them like an animal ready to attack. “Was there a _scar_ on his forehead _before_ you apparated? Or were you too stupid to take note of that as well!”

“It was made _abundantly_ clear that we were to _collect_ only– your sister made sure of that!” Scabior growled, stepping forward in anger. “So how about you just pay us our fucking money so we can be on our way.”

Bellatrix raised her wand and pointed it at the man as a sickening smile curled across her lips and a disturbing whisper hissed through her teeth. “Oh, give me a reason – just one would be enough – no one would miss you.”

“Bellatrix!” Narcissa’s calm voice cut across the room as she finished patting down Harry’s pockets and pulling out their contents. He could feel her magic as it searched through his clothes, looking for anything that might be hidden but she avoided his eyes as she searched him.

“Fine, fine – so overdramatic Cissy.” She pouted briefly and twirled her wand back to her side. “Now… who do we question first.”

She eyed them all, moving before Ron, grabbing his face and inspecting him in a similar fashion to how she had just examined Harry. Seeming unsatisfied she shoved him away roughly and moved to Hermione. The second she grabbed her chin Ron cried out.

“DON’T TOUCH HER!”

A smile curled across Bellatrix’s lips once more and a low chuckled escaped her as her grip tightened on Hermione’s chin. “Oh, I think we know the answer to that now.”

Harry bit his tongue so hard it started to bleed, his hands clenched tight at his sides and he glared at Ron.

 _YOU FUCKING IDIOT!_ He screamed inwardly as he tried to catch the redhead’s attention to tell him to shut the fuck up without saying it out loud. Any noise he made or any reaction he showed would only make it worse – how did Ron not know this! It was like he wanted Hermione to be tortured, like he wanted her to suffer. How thick could a person be? Did he have no common sense whatsoever?

“STOP – DON’T TOUCH –“ Ron’s voice was cut off and he went silent as Narcissa hit him with a silencing spell. He still struggled against Greyback’s hold only for his eyes to bulge as the werewolf’s grip tightened.

“I think we are more than done with that,” Narcissa said coldly, her eyes darting quickly to Hermione who was practically pasted to the snatcher behind her before she returned her gaze to Greyback. “Bind him like the others before you strangle him Greyback. Bellatrix, we need to go through their belongings first – there might be something in there that –“

“Surely that is something that _Lucius_ could do!” Bellatrix sighed with an overdramatic roll of her eyes. Yet she obeyed her sister and dropped Hermione’s chin, slapping her roughly on the cheek before leaning in with a whisper. “I’ll come back for you soon.”

Harry wondered what must have happened ‘ _last time’_ for Bellatrix to abandon the idea of torturing someone so easily to search a bag instead. It must have been pretty bad if she was willing to delay her favourite activity – he wondered if it was related to Lucius’ slumped form and quiet disposition. Usually the man would be thrilled at an opportunity to harass potential muggleborns and ‘ _muggle lovers’_ but instead he remained steadfast by the fireplace with his mouth shut in a tight grim line. Bellatrix pulled the bag roughly from Narcissa’s grip and tapped the opening with her wand, lazily summoning out different odds and ends as Narcissa eyed the snatcher that held Hermione with an unreadable empty look, though the woman’s eyes darted to the man’s hand that was moving disgustingly across her body.

“I’ll get your payment so you may leave,” she said tightly, moving to her husband and outstretching her hand. Harry saw Lucius pull out a small pouch from inside his robes and hand it to his wife. His arm trembled as he did so, and it only further confirmed Harry’s suspicion that he was unwell.

“Instead of my usual fee – I would like to keep the girl.” the snatcher behind Hermione spoke, and Harry saw his hand slip dangerously low on Hermione’s hip, trailing down her side and along her leg. His mouth was pressed against her ear as he pulled her closely to his body. Hermione’s eyes narrowed into slits as her body tensed against him, but she kept her mouth clenched tight.

Bellatrix snorted as she pulled another book from the purse, not really paying attention to the contents or caring what was inside it. “You want a _mudblood_ for a toy? You truly are a disgusting bunch the lot of you. But fine – you can have her when I’m done.”

Ron jerked violently against his binds next to Harry.

“No,” Narcissa said firmly as she strolled forward with a bag of what Harry could only assume was coin.

“And why not dear Cissy? We have more than enough mouths to feed here already – give her to the dogs.” Bellatrix sighed dramatically as she continued pulling items from Hermione’s purse. Harry saw his broken shard of glass float to the ground as the teapot followed. Then she smiled wickedly. “Or were you and Lucius planning to _experiment_ later? Developed a taste for something more exotic?”

“Don’t be vile Bellatrix,” Narcissa snapped. “You know the rules – they are to be kept undamaged in case they are needed later.”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes once more and pulled another book from the purse, not bothering to drop this one softly and instead letting it fall with a heavy thunk. Thankfully, at least from what Harry could see, so far nothing of value had left the confines of the purse.

“You will take your coin – and _only_ your coin,” Narcissa said darkly, her eyes fixed on the man still holding Hermione. “Now get your –“

“WHERE DID YOU GET THIS!!!!” Bellatrix screamed and Harry’s eyes shot toward her. Her wand was raised, her shoulders were shaking dangerously, she was pointing her wand at Hermione’s face – and she was holding the Sword of Gryffindor.

No one moved, the room was stunned silent, Bellatrix’s rage unfurled and Narcissa’s eyes widened as a calculating look crossed her features. So far, whether intentionally or not Harry did not know, she seemed to have been keeping her sister’s sick habits at bay – but he doubted that she’d be able to continue to do so now.

“Let me call Draco I –“

“OUT!” Bellatrix screeched at the snatchers, cutting off Narcissa and stepping forward. “EVERYONE OUT NOW!”

“You still owe us our payment!” Scabior challenged, his voice angry now as he stepped forward with his own wand raised.

Bellatrix moved faster than Harry’s fuzzy vision could capture. Ron dropped to the floor with a thud as his body was stunned stiff as a board and Greyback flew into the wall with a heavy thud. Harry felt his own body go rigid as he dropped face first to the ground, his nose breaking against the dark wood when he landed. Unable to move his neck he could not see anything going on around him, but he heard Hermione hit the floor heavily next to him. Lights flashed above him as the wands of the snatchers, including the ones that they had taken from them upon their capture, flew around the room. He heard them clattering in the corners as Bellatrix wreaked havoc and screamed at the snatchers to leave. Lucius was yelling, Narcissa was moving before him and casting out binding curses as footsteps echoed across the room until everything finally went silent.

“Take them to the dungeon,” Bellatrix panted, her feet finally moving against the floor toward Narcissa who stood directly in front of Harry. “Call Draco – this _mudblood_ and I are going to have a chat.”

“Bellatrix, they are to be kept undamaged until we confirm their use,” Narcissa’s words were a low cautious whisper and Harry could barely hear them.

“You may have managed to keep them from the dogs because you’re in charge of _captives_ , Cissy,” Bellatrix’s low hiss was barely audible and Harry had to strain his ears to hear it. “But _I_ am in charge of security around the _vault_ – and I outrank you with _everything_ else. _This is_ _mine._ Or are you questioning the Dark Lord?”

At Narcissa’s silence Harry could only assume that she had no response. Or she had spoken so low he couldn’t hear it.

“Your weak stomach and soft spot for children will be your downfall Cissy,” Bellatrix breathed softly. “And it is why you will _always_ answer to me. Take them, to the dungeon.”

Harry felt himself be levitated a few inches off the floor, he watched as it moved beneath him and he was transported out of the drawing room, through the entranceway and down a long dark hallway. The soft click of Narcissa’s heels was the only thing that filled the void as they made their way through the huge mansion and then down a flight of dark cold steps. They paused at the bottom and Harry heard Narcissa muttering something though he couldn’t pick up the words. Then the sound of a squeaking metal gate clanged before he was tossed unceremoniously into a dark stone cellar.

A deep tingle crossed his skin as he was thrown over the threshold and his body became limber once more – the ropes around him vanished and the body binding came undone. He landed with a hard thud, rolled onto his knees, and quickly turned back toward the entrance in time to see Narcissa shutting the iron barred gate. Without pausing to think he tried to hurl a silent stunner at her and she froze. Then her eyes slowly moved to gaze at his face.

They were curious, hesitant, and afraid – he was a mere foot away from her, separated only by the metal bars, and he could see everything. Her bizarre expression betrayed the blank and indifferent demeanor she’d expressed upstairs. It was the most emotion he had ever seen the woman express. She was opening evaluating him, her eyes darted over his face as the silence rang painfully through his ears. His heart hammered in his chest, unsure of what was going on as she continued to stare at him, and he starred at her.

“You can do no magic in this dungeon, it will only drain you – _save_ your energy.”

The words were a whisper and Harry’s heart faltered. He starred at her in disbelief, unsure if he had even heard the words, as Narcissa turned on her heel and made her way quickly back up the steps. The entire exchange felt like it had dragged on for an hour but it had occurred in under ten seconds, and he felt breathless and tense with confusion as he watched her go.

“Blood hell!” the load groan from Ron echoed through the chamber and instantly cracked Harry out of his daze. He felt a wave of blinding anger surge through his body as he turned toward the redhead that was just pulling himself up from the ground.

“You _fucking_ moron,” the words were low, deep, and murderous. They rumbled through his chest as he stalked toward Ron who was now standing and rubbing his side. Harry grabbed him by the jacket and slammed him against the nearest support column, not batting an eye at the loud thud that echoed around the room as the boy’s head smashed against the wall. “Were you _trying_ to get her killed?!”

“Me?!” Ron hissed in pain as he began trying to grab at Harry’s hands. He was unable to push Harry off though so instead he just shoved at him roughly. “You didn’t even fucking try to stop them! You didn’t say a thing!! They had her and it was like you didn’t even care Harr–“

Harry growled and punched Ron hard in the temple. He let Ron’s body fall from his grasp from the momentum and watched as the redhead hit the ground with a loud thud, his loud groan echoed throughout the room and he grabbed at his head in pain. It had been an instinctual reaction and did nothing to help the problem, but Harry didn’t care, the dumbass was about to say his name out loud. For all they knew someone could be listening to them right now, though even if they weren’t he still would have hit him. Anger was pouring through him in violent waves, he couldn’t control it, he wanted to strangle him. He’d never been so angry in his entire life, he felt like puking as he clenched his fists tightly to his sides. He wanted Ron dead.

“Don’t fucking use my name!” Harry seethed, his shoulders heaving as he fought to restrain himself. His voice was so dangerous that Ron froze on the floor before him and looked up at him in terror. “How STUPID are you! The only thing keeping us alive right now is the fact that they don’t know who we are!”

Though Harry suspected that Narcissa knew exactly who he was, and that raised another round of questions that he did not have the time or brain capacity to address. Right now, the only thing that was circling through his mind was Hermione – and what was going to happen to her. His stomach twisted as horrible images flooded his mind and his fists clenched tighter. It was taking every ounce of his remaining self-control not to murder Ron with his bare hands.

If he was able to use magic he would have gutted Ron right then and there, without a second fucking thought, without caring about the repercussions. After the war if he was trialed for the murder of an Order member, he would have proudly raised his hand and said he did it. He would have volunteered the memories too – just to show them how the pieces hit the floor. The wards on the dungeon were the only reason why Ron was still alive.

“I didn’t _say_ anything because the more you react the more they respond – they were looking for our weaknesses! Do you _seriously_ think that she will give them information?! NO! You – stupid – mother – fucker!” His voice was hissing out in a deathly whisper, Ron had begun to inch away from him on the floor and Harry hadn’t realized that he’d taken another two steps forward. “They picked _her_ because _YOU_ reacted! _YOU_ will be brought up there next because now they know that you will give them what they want once you hear her _screaming_! She’s going to be tortured because of YOU! BECAUSE THEY KNOW IT WILL HURT YOU! BECAUSE YOU COULDN’T KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! BECAUSE YOU DON’T FUCKING THINK! FUCKING HELL!! I WILL KILL YOU IF SHE DIES!!”

Harry turned and punched the column to his right with his left hand so hard that Ron ducked instinctually before him. The boy’s eyes were wide with fear, mouth hanging open in shock as he watched Harry lose it from his cowered position on the ground.

A sickening crunch split through the dark room. Pain shot up Harry’s hand like fire as he screamed with rage and sunk to his knees. A low vicious growl cut through his throat as agony overtook him, a wretched sob had caught in his chest, but he held it back. He threaded his hands into his hair and inhaled sharply as the pain scorched down his arm to his shoulder. He’d done it to stop himself from killing the coward that shivered on the floor to his left. Because he knew that the pain would distract him, it would force him to refocus on the actual problem of escaping. If he could not control his emotions, he was no better than Ron, he would put them at risk.

It was stupid he knew, his hands had more than a few broken bones and it would be hardly useable until he could heal it – but he just could not bring himself to care. He felt like his heart was breaking in his chest as the world fell apart around him. He couldn’t do this without her, he couldn’t lose her – he couldn’t, he wouldn’t. And if she died, he would die to. He would never be the same, he would never survive this war. He’d finish it sure – but it would destroy him.

He dropped his head and let the air out of his lungs. He needed to calm down. He needed to think. He needed to ignore Ron – Ron was nothing – he needed to come up with a plan of escape. He wiped his definitely broken hand across his probably broken nose, the blood from his collision with the floor smearing on his cheek and covering his still wet sleeve. He forced himself to breath slowly in and out, each shaky gulp of air stung painfully in his chest as he desperately tried to bury the terror that was threatening to consume him. He continued the process with his eyes clenched shut until his hands stopped shaking.

“Is it you?” a familiar yet timid voice rang out behind him and Harry flinched at the sound. He turned around quickly, standing to his feet and squinting into the darkness at the approaching figure.

“Luna?” his eyes widened as she approached in the dim light. Her features were fuzzy, but her white blonde hair was unmistakable even in the dark.

“Yes,” she approached him carefully, her calm eyes focused on his as she made slow tentative steps toward him.

She stopped about a foot away, eyes never leaving his. There was no terror or fear in her gaze as she watched him. Only an odd look of understanding and comfort – of course it would be Luna who did not fear him or his outburst of rage and instead gazed at him with only trust and understanding. She’d always been openly accepting of people no matter the situation. She gave him a faint smile, then took another small step forward into the light from the door and Harry felt his heart ache.

Even without his glasses he could see the sharp edge of her cheekbones, the dullness of her hair – much like her father’s, and the deep bruise that covered her cheek. She looked like a bag of bones, her clothes hung loosely off her frame and dark circles ringed around her eyes. Her body seemed to quiver constantly from the chill of the dungeon. Harry felt the anger seep from his body as if someone had pulled the plug on a tub and his breath caught across his chest.

“How did you get here?” the words fell easily from his mouth, but they sounded broken.

Talking to Luna had always come easy to him in the past, and that fact did not seem to change regardless of his newly acquired social anxiety. She made him feel comfortable, she always had, and he found focusing on her made his rage toward Ron drain even faster. _She_ was the reason he and Hermione were fighting this war – people like Luna. Their friends. The decent people in the world who deserved a chance to live free. They were the people who needed him to calm down so he could get out of this Manor and continue destroying Horcruxes.

“I was pulled off the train at Christmas,” she said slowly, her eyes moving curiously over his face in their typical mystical manner. She raised a tentative hand toward his face, inching it slowly closer until she brushed the hair from his forehead. Harry flinched at her touch, but he didn’t pull away and instead allowed her to take in his appearance. “Stinging jinx?”

“Yes.” The word came out as a quiet whisper. His heart rate had returned to normal once more.

“Smart,” she smiled again, much more firmly this time, and dropped her hand to his shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. The touch felt weird, foreign. The only one who ever touched him now was Hermione and yet the warmth that Luna was radiated towards him felt so nonjudgmental and safe that he couldn’t help but take it in in hopes of calming his own nerves further. “She always was very clever – she’ll be okay.”

Harry felt his steel heart crack once more and his eye twitched. “Yes, she will.”

“Dean is here too – and Mr. Ollivander and Griphook.” Luna said quickly, removing her hand from Harry and stepping back. It was like she could tell that he had finally calmed to a rational level so she moved toward Ron and offered him her hand. He had been sitting on the cold floor holding his now swollen temple watching the exchange with a bizarre scowling expression. Begrudgingly he accepted her hand and stood to his feet then stepped back to lean against the wall. “They’re near the back, I think that Mr. Ollivander is still sleeping.”

Harry heard the sound of scuffing footsteps approaching against the low echo of the voices from the parlor above and he saw the tall thin frame of Dean appear, but he couldn’t make out the others in the darkness without his glasses. Dean stopped a few feet before him and stood awkwardly, his hand gripping his opposite arm as he fixed Harry with a wary expression – he looked afraid, hesitant. Harry suspected it had something to do with the exchange he’d just had with Ron.

“You look like shit,” Dean said quietly, an uncertain smile brushing across his lips after a long pause lingered between them.

“So do you,” Harry snorted, offering the battered looking boy a grimace and hoping that it might appear at least a small amount reassuring. He had no fight with Dean, and it was strange to see the boy looking at him so fearfully. “How long have you been here?”

“Since the fall.”

“Fuck – that’s a long ti–“

A long blood curdling scream echoed throughout the house and Harry froze mid-sentence. It was unmistakable. It was gruesome and it made his blood turn to ice. A shiver slid down his spine as his body tensed and the sound rang out endlessly, impossibly continuous as if powered by an infinite amount of air. Luna shuddered before him and clasped her hands over her ears. She was shaking more violently now, and Dean quickly put an arm around her. Harry turned back to the entrance as the taste of blood and bile mixed in his mouth.

Hermione was being tortured, and she sounded like she was dying.

-x-x-

When Hermione fell to the floor a small part of her was grateful, despite the fact that her cheek bone likely shattered on impact, at least it removed her from the disgusting snatcher’s claws – he had been inching his way closer to the hem of her pants with every second that passed. From where she fell, she watched what she could as Bellatrix hurled curses like a whirlwind, screaming at the snatchers and unleashing her wrath. Her face landed facing Harry and Narcissa’s boots – she saw the grown witch collect her wand from the floor and heard the disgusting crunch of Harry’s face as it collided with the floor. His nose would be shattered from the collision.

Though her relief vanished instantly the second that Narcissa was directed to remove Harry and Ron from the room – because now she was left alone with three stunned snatchers, Lucius and the deranged Bellatrix Lestrange. Who was panting heavily, her eyes blazing as she threw the sword to the ground and approached her like a lion would approach an injured gazelle.

“Well,” she said slowly, a tone of crazy in her voice and she loftily strolled over to Hermione, flipping her over onto her back with her wand. “Now that that’s been taken care of – we can get some _things_ cleared up.”

“Bellatrix,” Lucius’ voice cut in nervously. “If we wait for Narcissa to call Draco surely he can confirm if–“

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHO THEY ARE!!” Bellatrix screeched as she turned toward Lucius, her wand shook with rage. “I WANT TO KNOW HOW THE FUCK THEY GOT INTO MY VAULT! HOW THEY GOT THE SWORD!”

Lucius flinched at her voice and shrank back against the fireplace with a stumble. His eyes darted between Bellatrix and Hermione’s small form on his drawing room floor.

“So, let me ask you again mudblood,” Bellatrix returned her attention to Hermione, her body shaking with anger. “How did you get that sword?”

Hermione laid unmoving despite the fact that the body binding curse had been removed. She fixed her eyes on Bellatrix as she watched the demented woman stroll to kneel by her side. It didn’t matter what she said – Bellatrix would never believe any of the words that came out of her mouth. She would be tortured regardless. She would be tortured so that Ron and Harry heard it and then _they_ would be brought up for questioning. She knew this with every fiber of her being and she desperately hoped that Harry was working on a means of escape. She trusted herself to stay quiet, she knew that she would never betray Harry or their mission – but she did not trust Ron to keep his mouth shut. He had already failed to do so since their arrival and he had condemned her to what was going to come.

“ANSWER THE QUESTION!” Bellatrix spat as she closed the distance between them and grabbed Hermione by the neck. Hermione could feel the woman’s nails leaving matching marks next to the ones made by the snatcher only moments ago.

“We found it,” Hermione whispered hoarsely, unable to breath with Bellatrix gripping her like death.

“BULLSHIT!”

“We did – we just found it,” she drew in a ragged breath and sputtered as Bellatrix pulled her head up from the floor only to slam it back against the ground. Black spots clouded her vision and she groaned and tried to draw in more air.

“She can’t answer the question if you are choking her silent Bellatrix,” Narcissa had returned swiftly, her robes swished past Hermione’s view as she came to stand a few feet away from Bellatrix’s hunched form. Her expression was wary and her words cautious as if worried that she might make matters worse.

“Too right you are,” Bellatrix whispered in a low and dark tone. “But she is lying – I can see it in her eyes.”

“If we summon Severus he can perform Legilimency on her to –“

“NO!” Bellatrix screamed again and slammed Hermione’s head once more into the ground in punctuation. “There are other ways of making people talk Cissy. Summon Draco – and get the rat!”

Narcissa hesitated momentarily before leaving the room in another flourish, leaving her husband by the fireplace once more. Though it was glaringly obvious that the man was in pain and he was desperately looking around the room, focusing on anything but Hermione as she choked again for air.

“Now let’s see if we can loosen your tongue – perhaps get your friends a bit more willing to talk, yes? I’ll get you to tell the truth while we wait for Draco – _Crucio!_ ”

Up until this point in her life, Hermione had assumed that being mauled by a werewolf was the most painful thing that anyone could experience. She thought that the physical tearing of her flesh, the thudding agony of dark magic, the blood loss, the shock, and the trauma must be worse than any hex or any spell. But she had been wrong. Immensely wrong.

She had clenched her jaw shut in anticipation, fully planning to deny the woman any satisfaction by containing her cries of pain. She refused to feed Bellatrix’s sick perverted habit of torturing her victims into madness and she swore to herself that she would not submit to the agony or give this woman anything – but instantly, she realized it was not something that she had any control over. The pain, this pain, was like nothing she had ever experienced before in her life. And it consumed her.

Her body tensed, every muscle, every fiber screamed in pain as her nerves were set on fire. It raced down her spine, it shot through her organs, it rattled through her brain and forced her back to arch. Her body buckled as her mouth flew open against her will and the most god awful cry cut through her lips. It sounded inhuman; she didn’t even recognize it for the brief moment that she was aware she was making it. Her brain switched off as it was consumed with the raging inferno that ravaged her body, like someone was shoving a white-hot poker into every cell that made up her body at exactly the same second. Her legs shook, her arms flailed, and she felt her throat tearing as the muscles in her limbs ripped. It was endless, an eternity, she couldn’t breath and yet her cries just kept coming – and then it stopped.

Her body convulsed, she couldn’t feel the motions, but she could hear them as her breath came in horrid gasps and she desperately tried to pull air into her lungs. Tears poured from her eyes involuntarily and a sob escaped her lips. Her mind was swimming, she couldn’t see, Bellatrix danced in and out of focus before her and she barely noticed the sound of Narcissa returning.

“Where did you get the sword!” it was Bellatrix’s voice, she knew it was, but she couldn’t process it, not properly.

Instead of giving a response a low groan seeped through her lips as her eyes rolled back. Her head thumped hard against the ground for a third time and her eyes shot wide. She sputtered and gasped, looking around blearily. She could see Lucius by the fireplace – he looked like he was in shock and Narcissa was standing with a pinched and disturbed expression a few feet back.

“WHERE DID YOU GET THE SWORD?!”

Her eyes flashed back to Bellatrix, her face was livid, she looked insane with rage, and her grip on her neck was still firm.

“We found it,” the words were a low whisper and she watched as Bellatrix’s face contorted.

“ _CRUCIO!”_

She screamed again, her legs shook against the wooden floor so harshly that had Bellatrix not been holding her down by the neck she surely would have vibrated clear across the floor. She didn’t know how long it lasted, or how many times it happened, but each time she refused to say anything else in response, and each time Bellatrix bashed her against the ground and screamed in her face. At some point she heard footsteps by the door and her brain registered Draco Malfoy’s voice. She vomited and gagged, though she didn’t remember doing it, she didn’t know if it happened more than once or if it happened continuously, but she could taste it against her tongue. Her heart hammered dangerously fast against her chest as her body spasmed uncontrollably.

_How long have I been here?_

The question circled in her head in between each bash against the ground. It felt like an eternity, it felt like she’d lived a lifetime here on the floor, covered in her own vomit, screaming and wailing and gasping for life. The tiny part of her rational brain that remained told her that it must have only been minutes, that it would be impossible for anyone to endure this for anything longer than that. But that voice grew quieter with each spasm and she found herself lost inside the wreckage of her brain.

After what must have been the fourth time she coughed and blood poured from her mouth, she could feel it dripping from her nose and leaking down the edges of her face. She took a long ragged heave as she felt Bellatrix remove her hand from her throat and her head lolled to the side. It was getting so hard to breath; her body didn’t want to do it anymore. But she was okay with that. She could feel her heart slowing in her chest as her lungs started to give out and her eyes wandered the room off to her left.

Blue. All she could see was blue eyes – just two pairs, was one crying? They were watching her, like little glowing balls of light and a disturbed sense of humor washed over her body. She snorted, blood spewing from her lips as a mad sound poured from her body. A deranged smile cut across her lips, her head rolled back to the ceiling and her eyes fluttered closed.

 _Fuck these assholes_ , her barely conscious brain thought as her eyes rolled beneath her lids and her arms continued to twitch at her sides. _I’ll die on your floor. On your perfect fucking floor. I’ll ruin it with my mudblood blood, my filthy filthy blood. I’ll fucking ruin it, it will never be clean._

She wasn’t sure if she’d said the words out loud, she couldn’t distinguish much of anything anymore but she heard a small noise of a scuffle on her left and then warm hands pressed against the back of her neck. Someone was pouring something down her throat, she tried to push away but her arms wouldn’t do what she wanted them too, and she cough and choked. It tasted like… some sort of disgusting Pepperup?

Then her eyes shot wide, it felt like someone had rammed a bludger into her heart. Air poured into her lungs as her mouth opened wide and her spine arched backwards as a cry erupted from her lips. The room swirled back into focus as a rush of warmth filled her body and her heart began beating more firmly. Narcissa was kneeling beside her, clutching a small empty flask in her hands and her expression looked angry.

“If you keep this up, she’ll die before we get any information Bella! She can’t answer the questions if she’s dead! She needs to be lucid – there’s a reason why Severus is in charge of interrogation!” Narcissa shouted over her shoulder before turning back to face Hermione. Her eyes looked almost pleading as she continued to grip the back of her neck softly.

“Hermione, _think_ ,” she whispered so low that Hermione wasn’t sure she had heard it. Then she spoke her next words much louder. “Where did you get the sword girl?”

“It’s a copy,” Hermione breathed hoarsely, finding her brain was more functional than it had been a second ago.

Whatever potion Narcissa had given her was like a sharp kick to the gut, like a fucking hit of some drug that amped up her body and forced it to live. Though it clearly didn’t contain any veritaserum or she wouldn’t have been able to lie. Her eyes darted everywhere as her body trembled, taking in her surroundings properly for the first time in what felt like decades. Draco stood by the doorway looking as if he’d just been sick, Lucius was standing with his back turned, still resting against the fireplace – but now she realized that Scabior and Greyback were awake. They stood off against the far wall while a third snatcher stood frozen near Lucius, his eyes focused firmly on the floor. She still could not move her limbs – her muscles were too torn and tired from the rounds of _cruciatus_. So, she stared up into Narcissa’s gaze in confusion, unable to rationally process the concern that seemed to be riddled on the woman’s face.

“It’s just a copy,” she repeated more firmly though her voice was still torn. Her eyes searching the woman’s above her, looking for something, anything – she felt like she was grasping at straws. “We found it – thought it was real. We thought that it might be useful someday, but it’s fake – it can’t even cut a pie.”

She didn’t know why those words poured from her mouth, but they did. They didn’t really even make any sense – was she going mad and trying to be funny? Something strange passed over Narcissa’s face above her.

“Draco get the goblin!” Bellatrix yelled, then she made her way back over to Hermione and shoved Narcissa aside. She kneeled down to the ground, straddling Hermione’s shaking form and pinning her to the floor once more. Something cold pressed against Hermione’s neck and her eyes widened. “We’ll know soon enough whether or not you’re lying _mudblood_.”

Hermione’s head was forced back by the pressure against her neck, she assumed it must be a blade, she knew that she should move away from it but she had nowhere to go since she was pinned against the ground. She bit her lip as she felt it digging into her skin, she tried her best to stifle the cry that came from her lips – but the blade felt no different than the _cruciatus_ before. It burned her from the inside out and it made her whole body shudder.

“I will make you tell me the truth, _mudblood_ _bitch_ ,” Bellatrix whispered, bending low and speaking the words directly into Hermione’s ear. “I will make you scream so loud that they tell us _everything._ ”

Bellatrix pried her left arm away from her body and pinned it to the floor with her knee. Hermione felt the cool air against her skin as she heard the material of her jacket split. Hermione jerked against the woman roughly, she knew what was next and she desperately tried to pull away only to have Bellatrix jabbed the knife into her shoulder and bash her head into the floor once more. An incomprehensible noise gushed from her lips as the dagger burned into her skin and her eyes bleared with fresh tears.

“If I find out you’re lying – I promise you that your death will be slow, excruciating, and everlasting.” Bellatrix finally leaned back and pulled the dagger out with a quick jerk. Hermione wailed and rocked beneath the woman as pain now radiated from her shoulder throughout her chest.

Before the pain subsided, she felt the dagger slice through the flesh on her arm and her screamed rang out once more. The blade was cursed, it was cursed with dark magic and it emanated the same effects as the _cruciatus_ curse that Bellatrix loved so deeply. The knife burned against her skin as mark after mark was made and Hermione thrashed against her, deep, harrowing snarls pouring from her lungs as the burning ceased to stop.

“Bellatrix!” the voice was Draco’s, it was tight and cautious, and it stilled Bellatrix’s motions. Hermione rolled her head to the left heavily, spitting the fresh blood from her mouth to the floor, wishing she could spit it in his face as she gave him a look of death. Cursing him, cursing his family, his home, his aunt, and everything that these people stood for. He looked terrified, and his eyes flicked down to her arm which she could not see before he met her eyes once more. He hesitated. “I have the goblin, as you requested – perhaps you would like to question him instead.”

His choice of words was odd, and Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, she would have thought about its significance if she were capable of it. But the burning sensation in her arm thudded like a dull hard ache and it made it difficult to focus on coherent or logical thoughts. She realized that she was still groaning outwardly, and her breath came in sharp pants – but her heart refused to give up.

“Goblin! The sword on the ground there – is it real?”

The goblin, who was being held at wand point by Draco hesitated. His eyes darted to Hermione and then back to the floor. Hermione screamed, her body shaking violently against the floor as the knife cut through her skin once more. Her voice broke, a nauseating gaging sound cutting across her chest as her left arm vibrated loudly against the floor. The potion that Narcissa had given her was forcing her to stay awake despite the natural need of her body to lose consciousness. No human being was built to withstand such torture, it wasn’t designed to process this level of pain – the brain had a built-in fail safe exactly for that reason: you either went mad or you blacked out. And right now, her body was prevented from doing either of those despite the fact that she so desperately wanted to fall back into the blackness that had consumed her before. She was ready to die, she had been for months, and yet now she was incapable of it.

The goblin’s eyes went wide with shock at the sounds pouring from her body. He darted forward, snatching up the sword with shaking hands, looking at it rapidly.

“No!” he said quickly, his eyes moving back to the witch above her. “It’s fake.”

“That was quick,” Bellatrix said lazily as she paused her etchings in Hermione’s arm and flicked a finger toward the goblin. A slice cut across his cheek and he flinched. “Are you sure? I’d hate to think you were just saying that.”

Bellatrix returned to Hermione’s arm as if to prove a point, as if to let the goblin know that his quick diagnostic would not necessarily stop the torture, so he had better do it right. Hermione’s eyes rolled as her throat finally gave out and her strangled cry was cut short. Her gaze rolled back to her left and she caught sight of Draco, her rapidly racing brain taking in his hunched posture, his ghastly expression and the arm that clutched his stomach.

_Too cowardly to do anything about it though aren’t you._

“I’m sure,” the goblin said more carefully, his eyes returning to the sword as he turned it over in his hands in an effort to make his examination look more thorough. “It is a goblin made blade – this, is just a cheap replica. It is nothing like the original.”

Bellatrix stopped cutting and turned to face the goblin, her expression was bored as if Hermione no longer gave her any satisfaction now that she couldn’t make any noise. Like she had finally had her fill. Hermione sucked in a soundless breath, her eyes trailing to the ceiling above her as her body burned and trembled. She couldn’t move her limbs. She could hardly feel her left arm – which was surely a bad thing given that the potion was making her feel all of her other limbs quite clearly. Her throat felt like someone had poured acid down it then made her each sea urchins. She wondered if her voice would ever be the same – assuming she lived much longer. The hot tears that had been cascading down her face continued in a slow steady stream.

She felt ruined. She felt dead. She may as well have been. In fact, she wished she was. If she was dead no one would need to save her – no one would spill information. Every muscle ached, every bone burned, every nerve blistered in agony and her mind – although clear from the potion – was broken. Her body was a fractured shell of what it had once been, the lingering tremors that coursed through her made her sick with pain. If she had the strength left in her body, she would have vomited out her organs and curled into a ball and wept like a child. Yet she remained splayed on the floor under the weight of a mad woman who was now screaming at the goblin and adding cut after cut to his face in relentless rage.

“Draco,” Bellatrix called in a sickly-sweet voice. Her grip on Hermione’s jacket remained tight even though her attention was now turned to the terrified looking blonde. “Did you recognize the boy?”

“W-What?” Draco asked, his eyes were still fixated on Hermione’s form though he looked miles away.

“The new boy in the dungeon – did you recognize him?”

“I – I,“ he hesitated, then slowly shifted his eyes to meet Bellatrix’s gaze. “I didn’t look Aunt Bella – I only summoned the goblin as you asked.”

“Alright then,” Bellatrix sighed, turning her eyes to Peter. “Wormtail – go fetch the boy and bring him here. Now that the sword is sorted, I want to know if it’s Potter – and grab the redhead too, I’ll get him to talk.”

Bellatrix remained seated a top Hermione’s broken and battered body, appearing perfectly comfortable with her perched position as Hermione kept her eyes trained to Draco’s boots. She ignored the woman’s gaze because she did not want to do anything to antagonize her further – because she couldn’t do this anymore.

She couldn’t handle another round – neither her body nor her mind. As it was, she was straddling the cusp of practical recovery. She’d studied the long-term effects of torture after the fake Moody demonstrated the three unforgivable in class. She knew what happened if one endured too much, she knew that some of the damage may be permanent, that she may never be the same again, that her body may never stop twitching or her mind might be lost. She buried the anguish that was creeping through her tired mind. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she wanted to vomit, she wanted to lay alone in a broken pile on the floor. She wanted to die.

_Merlin let me die._

A slow hot tear slipped down her cheek as she forced her mind to focus on Harry, he was more important – she didn’t matter. What had happened, what would happen, was what it was – and wallowing over it did her no good. If she was lucky, she would be granted death – but right now she needed to think. She could not spare herself a second thought. She needed to force her damaged and fragile brain to function despite the fact that it was still scorching from torture.

Harry was about to be brought into the room and if Draco identified him, then all of this was for nothing. Everything she had endured was wasted. Everything would start again, but this time it would be Harry. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes tightly.

_Not Harry. Not Harry. Not Harry. Please, you cannot have him._

She felt Bellatrix trail a cold finger down her cheek.

 _Please no more_.

The door to the room burst wide, and her eyes flashed open at the sound to see Harry standing in the open doorway behind Draco, a bolt of purple was erupting from the end of the wand he held tightly in his grip. She felt her heart stutter in her chest as her eyes focus on his face. Then something deep and primal stirred within her. It raged through her body like a hurricane, extinguishing the agony that had been squeezing her body like death, it pushed away the pain and anguish. It ejected the exhaustion that riddled every fiber of her being. Her eyes shot wide and a vicious monstrous snarl escaped her lips.

Time seemed to slow down before her, a surreal sensation surrounding the room as she watched everything unfold without sparing a moment of thought. Bellatrix, who had only just turned to view the door, froze as her eyes widened in shock. Hermione wrenched her hands from the floor, grabbed both sides of the woman’s head like a watermelon and extended her thumbs. Her left hand missed because her arm didn’t work very well, but she felt her right thumb hit its target, it punctured the soft tissue she didn’t even realize she was looking for as she pulled the woman down and rammed her head against her skull. A scream erupted from Bellatrix as the purple shield charm enveloped Hermione. With a violent cry of pain Hermione thrust her hips upwards and tossed the witch to the side.

Harry had rushed forward, disarming Draco and catching his wand from the air as if it were a snitch floating lazily before his face. Lucius thudded to the floor like a rock from a silent stunner, Draco backed up in terror with his hands raised open palmed before him as Greyback was launched against the wall for a second time. The sound was revolting as Harry rolled forward, and dodged Scabior’s feeble attempt at a counter before the snatcher fell to the ground with a thud. Goblin in hand, Harry darted across the floor toward her, his eyes fire as they flicked back to catch Bellatrix’s wand. The woman was clutching her face and staggering to her legs.

Hermione hauled herself from the ground with a low arduous grunt, stumbling heavily, her legs wide and shaking beneath her like an unstable two-legged tri-pod as the entire left side of her body sagged. She felt Harry grab her tightly around the middle as he threw a curse at Bellatrix. She dodged it, only barely, rising to her feet like the evil demonic creature that she was – blood poured from her left eye socket as her hand tightened around her dagger.

Hermione outstretched her right arm and the snatcher that had been lingering near Lucius with a raised wand split into three pieces, Narcissa stood stock still to his right, wand held tightly against her side as his blood and organs spilled over her boots. The woman’s gaze was unreadable and it did not leave Hermione’s face. Without pausing, and ignoring the agony that shot through her body, she summoned her purse from the floor.

“NOW!” Harry yelled, and a loud pop rang out through the room.

Hermione’s hand closed around the material of her purse just as she caught sight of a dark figure entering the room behind Draco’s stunned frame. Whoever it was, they were tall and dressed in all black – but it wasn’t Voldemort. Before her mind could process anything further, she felt a tug behind her naval and she disappeared with Harry in a second loud pop.

_(to be continued…)_

-x-x-

Next update will not be until Sunday (sorry) as next week I will be working desperately hard to launch a personal co-initiated project :P If you are interested in knowing what that is, keep an eye on my profile and I’ll include a link at some point.

Have a great weekend <3

TT


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Hello amazing humans of the interweb! You are the light of my life! This week has been crazy, busy, stressful and I’m spent. Working on this chapter was a wonderful break from real life and my recent new pursuit (more on that later) but it was also a BEAST. There was SO much to unpack and I desperately wanted to do it justice because it is a huge moment and there’s a lot to cover before this steam engine takes off again and… wouldn’t you know, this grew from 3k words to over 17k.  
> So, I split it. AND if I can get the second half edited tomorrow I will post it too because that it how much I love you all.  
> 2\. In this chapter and the next we arrive at Shell Cottage. Apologies for the cliffhanger before :P they’re just so easy to write and I had to end the chapter somewhere.  
> 3\. Please let me know what you think, your feedback is always appreciated! Also, somehow I crossed over 1.1k kudos… so.. wow. I can’t even. Thank you.
> 
> Know that you are loved <3 truly and dearly, each and every one of you.
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> \- Violence (though this seems typical now)  
> \- Dealing with the aftermath of torture, some gruesome descriptions
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

The world swirled rapidly around her, contorting back from the momentary black and the agonizing pressure of apparition – but something was wrong. They were moving too quickly; the fall was abrupt and uncontrolled. Hermione’s addled brain barely registered the smell of the ocean and the sound of the waves as her eyes winced at the bright light of early afternoon. She was falling, the air was rushing past her face and screeching in her ears until suddenly she collided with the ground and all the air in her lungs was forced out in a painful grunt. She felt the impact all the way from her head to her toes – her rolled ankle from the walk to the Manor thudded, her broken cheek bone exploded with pain and her left arm was caught and crushed beneath her body. She gasped for breath only to find that water and sand filled her mouth. Panic flooded her mind.

_I’m drowning!_

Despite the agonizing pain she forced herself onto her right elbow and lifted her head from the water, coughing and hacking and drawing in air as sand fell from her lips. Her eyes were wide, they darted around taking in her surroundings as she felt a fresh wave of cold water wash over her feet up past her hips.

 _Shell Cottage_.

She could make out the small cottage several hundred feet down the beach, they’d arrived quite a distance away and they’d landed in the water as opposed to the sand. The potion that Narcissa had given her was still causing her heart to race, her brain to function clearly despite the pain and her senses to magnify. She had no doubt that it had not only kept her from death in the Manor, but that it was the only reason she had been able to stand and attack before Harry somehow apparated her away. Despite being beaten and battered she’d cleaved that snatcher into pieces with a single raised hand.

Why Narcissa would give her such a thing was a mystery she would need to think on later, she could still picture the woman’s blue wide-eyed stare as Hermione stood on trembling legs before her, and blood flooded over the woman’s pristine shoes. Yet Narcissa had not raised her wand at them, she had stood solid as a rock with her weapon sheathed at her side. The whole of it hadn’t made any sense, surely there were other ways Narcissa could have kept her alive throughout the torture, surely the woman would have at least raised her wand to defend herself – but she didn’t. So Hermione had sparred her and chose to retrieve her purse instead – after all, Harry had spared Lucius and Draco, and that was another something that she would need to figure out.

She groaned and dragged herself forward from the water. The shield spell that Harry had launched at her when he burst through the door had saved her life just now – sure the impact had hurt but nothing else had been broken, and it had prevented her head from exploding like a melon on the ground after falling over three hundred feet to from the air. Her mind was racing as she crawled herself forward. Harry, where was Harry? How did they get here? How did he apparate? Where was Ron? What had happened? How did he escape? Why had he shouted ‘ _now’_ before they left?

“H – AR – RY!!” she screamed for him yet barely any sound came from her torn vocal cords. What did leave her lips was ragged and broken, low and rough. She knew that no one would hear it against the sound of the water that was washing up onto the shore.

Moving purely on adrenaline, her heart pounding solid as a steam engine in her chest, she relentlessly drove herself forward, clawing at the sand and forcing her legs to move her to her knees. Her left arm hung limp at her side as she placed her weight on her right arm and crawled forward on her knees as she panted. Despite the potion coursing through her veins her entire body rattled like the rickety old wooden roller coaster that her parents had taken her on as a child. She grunted as she stumbled forward into drier sand. She could see figures coming out of the tiny cottage in the distance, but she still could not see Harry – where had he landed?

“H – AR!” this time even less sound came out and she felt blood trickle down her chin.

 _FUCK_! She screamed inwardly as she looked back to her right. Her voice was gone for now, the more she tried to use it the worse it would get. But she had to find him.

“HERMIONE!!”

Her head flashed to the left in time to see a blur of black racing toward her, she knew it was Harry – she _knew_ it. Even though the shield charm he had cast on her was still in affect and would prevent her from any further physical harm, she wasn’t worried. Strong arms wrapped around her waist and hauled her from her knees off the ground, standing her upright and carrying her away from the water. She’d recognize the feel of him anywhere, his sound, his movements, his smell – she knew him. He was like an extension of her own body. She leaned on him heavily, her legs wobbling beneath her as they moved, her damaged ankle throbbing with each step. Then gratefully, he sat down on the ground and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

“Hermione,” his voice was tight with pain as he held her.

She buried her face into his shoulder as her whole body started to tremble harder. She’d thought she may never see him again, she’d thought she would die alone on that floor – covered in her own vomit and blood. She’d thought she might lose him, she’d thought it had been the end – that he would be brought up next, that he would suffer the same fate – or that Voldemort would return to the Manor and find him. Her fingers curled into his jacket as fresh hot tears poured down her cheeks and she clung to him. He was her lifeline, her only reason for fighting through it.

_Never again, never again. I’m never leaving your side again – I can’t do this without you._

She wished she could say the words out loud, that she could whisper in his ear how much she loved him, how much she needed him, but only broken sounds came out. Thinking of him was the only thing that had kept her sane, knowing that she was protecting him was the only thing that had forced her to endure. And when she couldn’t take it anymore she had been ready to die for him, ready to submit to the blackness, ready to let it happen – but now that she held him in her arms again she berated herself for thinking she could ever give up. She _needed_ to be here for him, she _needed_ to be with him. She would go through it all again for him, she would do _anything_ for him. She wished she could tell him how fucking terrified she’d been and that she was never going to leave his side again – that she loved him more than anything. But she couldn’t, so she just buried her face in his hair and wept in silence as his voice echoed in her ear.

“Hermione – fucking hell,” his voice rumbled and broke each few words he spoke. “I thought I’d lost you – I thought you might be dead – fuck I thought I’d lost you – never again – never again – I’m never going to leave your side again, you’re okay, you’re okay, I’ve got you.”

She felt his lips grazing against the skin on her temple before he carefully grabbed her body and pushed her away from him so he could get a better look at her. His eyes were pinched painfully as he cast a diagnostic bubble on her and summoned the purse. She shuddered at the feel of a silent warming spell encasing her like a heavy blanket. She could only imagine what she must look like, based on his expression she figured it was less than ideal. She kept her right hand gripping the collar of his jacket tightly as he pulled out several potions and ran his hands carefully over her body – inspecting the damage and deciding what to tend to first. From a quick glance at her diagnostic bubble he brought a blood replenisher to her lips and she diligently swallowed a quarter of it.

They both knew she wasn’t going to die. The floating orb by her head showed extensive damage to her nerves, organs and bones – but she would live, despite the fact that her body was aching with steady pain that radiated throughout her yet had no clear epicenter. Instead every cell in her body was simultaneously groaning in pain. Yet despite this her body continued to push onwards, her heart continued to pump and she would live to see tomorrow. An excruciating tomorrow – a tomorrow where she may find out that her left arm, which currently hung limply by her side, may never work again. It may become a permanent reminder of the hell she’d been through, of the hell she still felt, hanging dead and useless at her side. She may have ever lasting nerve damage; she may permanently shake. She forced the sick feeling in her stomach to ease as she focused her eyes only on his. He was the only thing that mattered. She would deal with whatever was left of her body later.

She watched as Harry grabbed a bottle of cleaning potion and dittany from the bag, his movements were robotic and functional, distinctly separate from the anguish that shone in his eyes and the steady mumbling of words that poured from his lips.

“You’re okay – you’re going to be fine; I’ve got you – I’m so sorry Hermione, so sorry – you’re okay – I promise – never again.”

“Harry Potter,”

The weak voice cut through the air and Harry froze, he had been carefully cutting away the fabric over her shoulder wound to expose it, it was the worst physical wound she’d sustained and thus he’d rightfully decided to treat it first. His head turned to the right and Hermione’s gaze followed, she recognized that voice. Her body jerked as her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She could feel her heart grind painfully in her chest.

Dobby was standing just a few feet away, his huge eyes shining as his small hand clutched at the collar of his overlarge shirt – right above the silver hilt of where Bellatrix’s dagger was buried in his chest.

 _No_ , Hermione felt what little was left of her heart break. _Not Dobby_.

Her mind reeled into action, the potion driving it forward with vigor. Her injuries could wait – at this point they wouldn’t be getting any worse. The damage was done, Bellatrix had seen to that and most of it was nerve related. The wounds from the dagger had clotted somewhat, possibly as a result of the potion Narcissa had poured down her throat, so she wasn’t bleeding out. Harry’s diagnostic bubble had already confirmed she wasn’t knocking on death’s door – being in intense pain was not the same thing as dying, and her blood levels were adequate once more after drinking the replenisher.

She was injured yes, her physical wounds needed treatment yes, but she was alive and wouldn’t be keeling over anytime soon. Besides, they had nothing to treat the lingering tremors and pain that radiated through her body from the _cruciatus_ curse anyways – because there wasn’t really anything to treat it. She’d looked through countless textbooks, potion journals and literature and was amazed to find that there wasn’t much that could be done aside from applying a few topical creams to ease the pain (none of which she had right now) or healing specific individual physical injuries that had resulted from the torture. So aside from taking a calming draught, or swallowing a fuck ton of dreamless sleep potion and waiting it out, there was nothing she could do at this moment. And that option was off the table until whatever Narcissa gave her wore off, mixing unknown potions was a juvenile mistake that could kill you faster than you could swallow a bezoar.

Without stopping to second guess her own analysis she pushed off from the ground at the same moment Harry did, she knew he would draw the same conclusion. She knew he would trust her to survive. His arms never left her body, he pulled her from the ground and carried her the ten feet forward across the uneven sand before placing her back on the ground next to him as he kneeled beside Dobby’s fallen form. Her diagnostic bubble trailed diligently along behind them, refusing to be left out, closing the distance quickly and hovering above her head once more – she could see her accelerated heart rate spike even further as she got a better look at the elf’s wound.

“Dobby,” Harry said as he grabbed the small elf’s hand gently, his other hand lingering over the knife momentarily as he gave Hermione a questioning look.

He was well studied on human biology and medical care to the point that his skills rivaled Hermione’s – but she knew that he had never researched House-elf biology. She had. It had been part of her S.P.E.W efforts back at Hogwarts. She shook her head ‘ _no’_ – House-elf magic was different and pulling out the blade would be a death sentence. She saw him grimace, but he moved his hand away and instead summoned over her purse and the potions from the ground where they had been sitting before and he cast a diagnostic bubble on Dobby.

“Such a beautiful place,” Dobby murmured, his eyes were latched to Harry’s as he spoke. “So beautiful to be with friends.”

Hermione winced as she saw the little glowing bubble appear above the elf. It wasn’t good. The knife had pierced through the bottom half of his heart, and a portion of his lung and stomach. The only hope they had of saving him was to pour the dittany over the wound at the exact moment they pulled out the blade – but based on what she could see it was a lost cause. She knew this, and she knew that Harry saw it too.

“Yes Dobby – it is,” Harry’s voice was laced with barely controlled emotion as he grabbed a bottle of dittany and uncorked it deftly. “You’ve saved us all Dobby, you were incredible – and now we’re going to save you and get you fixed up okay? Everything is going to be okay.”

“Dobby is happy to be with his friend, Harry Potter,” Dobby’s words were a faint whisper, his eyes were glazing over as a small smile curled on his lips. In her peripherals Hermione could see the four figures from the cottage growing closer on their Right. They were well within earshot now.

“Dobby – no, don’t die – hang on!” Harry began pouring the dittany.

Hermione groaned loudly in pain as she raised her vibrating right arm toward the knife, she was keenly aware that the deathly sound she made stopped all but one of the approaching figures. Her fingers flinched as they curled around the cold metal surface and she felt her stomach turn. Touching it made her want to vomit, it made her skin crawl, it made her body ache more, but she bit it down. She saw Harry’s eyes flick to hers and she nodded at the knife – knowing that her vocal cords would fail her if she tried to explain, but she knew he understood. His hand closed around hers tightly as he poured the dittany and they both pulled the silver dagger from Dobby’s chest.

A cloud of green billowed around them as the knife was pulled from his small body. Hermione started to shake, pain was rippling in waves down her spine from her crouched position, her breath was coming in pants. She was asking her body for too much, but she didn’t care as she looked at the elf before her and she felt the pain on Harry’s face. It was too much. It was too large, too violent, too evil for such a small and good creature. She could feel fresh tears pouring down her cheeks as her eyes watched the blipping line in the diagnostic bubble above them slow. Then the line flickered out.

She didn’t stop. She refused to stop – so did Harry. His hand moved with hers and he continued to pour the potion even though they both knew it was over. Finally, the knife came free and Harry tossed it to the sand at their side. The skin across Dobby’s chest had closed but he remained motionless. As motionless as the flat line across his diagnostic bubble.

“Dobby?” Harry’s voice was low, his trembling hand had returned to the elf as Hermione’s hands dropped to the sand and she slumped against him. She could hear the shake of his voice as he placed two gentle fingers at the elf’s neck to manually check for a pulse. “Dobby?”

The little elf remained still on the sand as the sound of waves filled the silence around them. A flock of seagulls cawed as they flew over above and Hermione’s body curled inwards. The devastating ball in her stomach was like cold ice in her heart and her whole frame shook – her own diagnostic bubble began to blip a small red light warning that her stress levels were dangerously high and she glared at it.

_He didn’t deserve this._

She felt Harry go still beside her, his silence and lack of outburst was worse than any anguished cry he could have made. She felt her heart breaking as she raised her head and looked toward him. He looked blank. His hand was clasping the small elf’s as his eyes starred at the blood stain on Dobby’s shirt. His other hand had come to rest tightly on hers. She could see the anger there, she could see the storm within him, she could feel the tense rigidity in his body as he sat next to her unmoving.

Gentle footsteps closed the distance toward them from the right and Hermione’s eyes darted up, widening as they took in Luna’s frail form. Why was Luna here? Had she been at the Manor? Had Harry saved her too? Her mind raced as she stared at the gentle girl. Luna paused in front of them only for a moment before she knelt slowly and carefully to the ground. The girl looked like hell, a deep bruise covered her cheek and the typical spark in her eye, while still present, seemed dull and worn like her hair. Hermione felt her face crumple into a pained expression as the girl gave her a small gentle smile. She felt no fear or suspicion like she had when Ron showed up unexpectantly – perhaps it was just Luna’s nature. The girl was so gentle, so obviously kind and caring and Harry’s calm acknowledgment of her presence with a quick sweep of his eyes and gentle squeeze on Hermione’s wrist made her racing heart calm.

“We should close his eyes,” Luna said gently, raising her boney hand forward to gently slide the elf’s eye lids shut. Hermione could feel Harry’s hand twitch against hers. “There, now he could be sleeping.”

“Thank you, Luna,” Harry sounded pained, yet he gave Luna a small grimace of gratitude. It was clear that Harry trusted her, and Hermione did too. It was such an instinctual emotion toward the girl.

Hermione nodded once to Luna in thanks but groaned loudly in pain as a fresh round of tremors shot down her spine and she curled forward. Harry’s eyes flicked up to her bubble anxiously and then to her shaking form, his hand dropped Dobby’s and circled around her.

“Harry,” Luna said softly, her eyes knwoingly watching their interaction and then glancing back down to the elf. “Go care for Hermione – I can stay with him.”

“Thank you,” Harry nodded at her and stood, pulling Hermione up with him and holding her firmly to his chest. “I want to bury him – properly, without magic.”

“I think I saw a shovel in by the side garden,” Luna nodded in understanding. She stood slowly from the ground. “I will go get the shovel and remove the blood from his shirt. There are some flowers in the windowsill garden box – I don’t think Fleur will mind if we pick some – when you’re ready we can dig the hole, okay?”

Harry nodded once more as he hoisted Hermione firmly to his side and then began all but carrying her away from the cottage to a large rock.

“Luna!” he called over his shoulder as he sat Hermione down and leaned her against the rough surface, the blonde girl stopped and turned back around. “See if Fleur has any honey and ginger.”

Hermione leaned against the hard surface of the rock with a silent sigh, her trembling legs extending before her as Harry knelt to the ground at her side. She could see Luna nod quickly in response to Harry’s request and make her way back to the cottage, toward the three tall figures that stood nervously awaiting her. A small figure was slowly wandering back toward the cottage on its own. It wasn’t until that moment that Hermione realized who everyone was – up until now she hadn’t given a fuck who was standing fearfully away from them, obviously unsure of what do to. Now she realized it was Dean, Fleur and Ron – and the retreating figure was the goblin.

Fleur was standing nearest to them, she looked positively desperate with her hand clutched at the front of her pale blue dress. She was clearly urgent to help but had no idea what to do, her mouth was open as her eyes flicked between Luna, the motionless elf and Hermione’s battered form. Dean looked just as terrible as Luna, he was skinny, too skinny, dirty, worn – nothing like the strapping young man he used to be. His expression looked pained and wary – and he was holding Ron tightly by the shoulder. Which Hermione thought was odd, and she noted that his expression was fixated on Ron as if he was watching him carefully.

Ron, the red headed idiot, was staring at her fixatedly, not at her face, but at her body. His face was bruised, and his expression was unreadable. It seemed to change every second, fluctuating between rage, nausea, fear, disgust, hurt, shame and something else – she couldn’t keep up with and it just made her heart race quicker with anger. She didn’t want to see _him_. She didn’t want to look at him – she never wanted to see his face again. In fact, she wanted to get up and go destroy it with her dirty and bloodied fingers. She wanted to claw the skin off of him and make him feel some tiny piece of the pain he had condemned her to when he opened his stupid fucking mouth. She refused to look away. She wouldn’t be weak – she wouldn’t grant him the mercy of hiding her pain and agony. She wanted him to see it, she wanted him to know that it was _his_ fault. She was broken because of him, because he couldn’t listen, because he couldn’t fucking think. Their eyes met.

 _I should have fucking hexed you, I should have obliviated you – I should have fucking killed you!_ She seethed inwardly as her nails bit into the palm of her hand and her first curled tightly despite the pain. _We were almost caught because of YOU! YOU ALMOST RUINED EVERYTHING!_

She narrowed her eyes at him, burning hatred that had been forgotten through rounds of agonizing torture reignited in her chest and she glared at him like death. She held her chin high as her jaw clenched. She heard Harry rapidly setting up the tent beside them, but she didn’t look away. She stared daggers at him as she watched him visibly flinch, his eyes widened in fear at the expression on her face. She didn’t relent until he finally looked away and focused his gaze on the ground before him. 

Luna had stopped to talk to Fleur and Dean, then they all turned back to the cottage, Luna and Fleur running while Dean all but pushed Ron forward before him with a tight and unrelenting grip. Hermione finally allowed her eyes to slide away from them and back to Harry who was at her side once more.

“I’m going to heal your ankle and your broken cheekbone first – then we’ll go inside okay?”

Hermione nodded and grit her teeth as she felt her ankle twinge with pain. It must have been broken, not just sprained. Her cheek was worse, healing it felt like having it broken all over again and she bit her lip so hard it bled. Then Harry helped her into the tent, and she laid across the cot that Harry had created from the small couch.

“Here drink this – it’s dittany, so it’s going to taste like shit but it should give you back your voice – though it’s still going to hurt to talk,” Harry’s eyes were dancing over her dedicated diagnostic bubble which floated happily by her head. “I’ll have Luna or Fleur make you some hot tea when they get here – it will help with the lingering pain.”

Hermione nodded and drank the dittany. Her entire body seized. She shot up from the bed like a bullet – it was worse than Polyjuice potion, it was worse than the pain that already riddled her body. She almost gagged and spat it out but Harry quickly clamped his hand over her mouth and urged her to swallow. She shook her head and tears pooled in her eyes. It burned worse than she could have imagined, but she forced it down when he brought his lips to her temple and begged her to do it.

“Fuuu – ucckkk!!!” her voice broke as it came back to life and she coughed violently against his damp jacket. Green smoke surged from her mouth like a dragon. “ _Fucking_ hell – _fuck_ it _burns_ Harry – it _burns_!”

The words sobbed from her mouth as she clung to his chest and he kissed across her forehead, holding her trembling form.

“I know – I know – I’m so sorry Hermione – I’m so sorry, it’s over now though, the rest is nothing compared to this,” he was lying, and she knew it, but she nodded into his chest anyway.

Gently he laid her back down on the cot and then proceeded to heal her injuries. The process was slow and agonizing. A part of her wished that he’d delayed giving her the dittany to swallow because now he could hear her pained cries. The shoulder was the worst, the wound was deep, angry and agitated from dark magic. It has sliced through her tendons and muscles, severing them completely, which was why she couldn’t move the entire limb. Harry worked carefully, his hands steady as he picked out the fabric from the cut before he cleaned it and dowsed it in dittany. He held her to the cot as she rocked and writhed in pain beneath his hold. Each mark from the knife turned into a sharp, dark angry red line. They weren’t mangled like the werewolf wounds had been because each cut had been clean – but they were permanent, and always would be.

Harry did his best to distract her from the pain by telling her what had happened. As hot tears poured from her eyes and she clutched his sleeve desperately she learned that Narcissa had brought him and Ron to the Malfoy Manor dungeon which was just below the drawing room. There Harry had come to find four other prisoners: Mr. Ollivander, a goblin named Griphook, Luna and Dean. The room was warded to prevent any magic, which oddly was something that Narcissa had told him, so Harry was unable to escape.

At one-point Draco had shown up to collect the goblin for questioning, Hermione remembered him being sent down there by Bellatrix, and Harry said that when Draco came to the gate Ron had screamed at him to let them out. Harry had lost his temper and decked him in the face again, knocking him out cold. He then told Dean to keep the boy away from him before he killed him – which explained the watchful eye and firm hold that Dean had on Ron outside only moment ago and it explained the bruises on Ron’s face. Apparently, Harry’s outburst had terrified Draco. The boy had refused to look at him or come anywhere near the gate – he instead summoned Griphook through the bars magically, an ability which Harry suspected was only possible because he was a Malfoy.

Dobby had appeared moments later, claiming he had been sent by a man named Aberforth to help. Harry had recognized the name from Rita’s book, it was Dumbledore’s brother, but how Aberforth had known to send him was a mystery that they would now never be able to solve. Harry had planned to ask Dobby for more information when they got to safety – but now that was impossible. Harry had asked Dobby to apparate the others to Shell Cottage first and promise to return, the elf had disapparated with the group just seconds before Wormtail came down the stairs to get Harry for questioning. He had gladly come through the gate, not caring that Wormtail held him at wand point. Harry waited for the moment when the eerie tingle of the Malfoy wards finished washing over his skin and then he wordless lopped off the man’s head and took his wand.

The rest had been rather straight forward, Harry said. He cast a shield charm on himself as Dobby reappeared and they both charged up the stairs to rescue her. Dobby waited in the hallway for the signal – then apparated into the room to grab Harry firmly and bring them all to Shell Cottage. When Bellatrix threw the knife it must have gotten caught in the apparition – but Dobby, being the dedicated and loyal elf that he was had still managed to complete the apparition and bring them to safety.

As Harry spoke, she noticed that his voice tensed heavily when he got to the wounds on her left arm. She didn’t look down at it, she would see it later, and instead she chose to close her eyes and focused on his voice. The tremble of his hands against her skin and his barely contained anger was enough to tell her that it was bad. Really bad. He had just finished checking the healing of the skin when Fleur cautiously entered the tent and Hermione’s eyes flew back open.

“I ‘ave ze ‘oney and ginger ‘Arry,” Fleur looked sick to her stomach and Hermione realized that without their normal wards around the tent her screams had no doubt been carrying over to the cottage. It was clear that Fleur was also extremely nervous of them.

“Thanks,” he said without looking up from his work on Hermione’s arm. “Can you make some hot tea with it – her throat is in pretty rough shape.”

To Fleur’s credit she did not stare like a gaping fish at Hermione’s body, but she didn’t shy away from it like a coward either. Regardless of her very apparent fear she held herself poised and rigid, her eyes firm despite the small shake of her hands as she nodded and quickly moved to the kitchen to get a mug. Hermione could hear her clattering around in the kitchen as Harry exhaled deeply then turned to look at her.

“All done,” his left hand pushed a few strands of hair away from her face as his eyes searched hers.

As much as Hermione knew she would appreciate the tea that Fleur was making she really wished that they were alone. It always felt like their conversations were clipped and shortened in the presence of others.

“How bad is it,” she sounded like she’d been smoking four packs a day for thirty years and she grimaced at the coarse feel of her throat.

“It all healed,” Harry said quietly as he watched Fleur from the corner of his eye. She had finished with the tea and was nervously bringing it over.

“’ere you are ‘Ermione,” she said with a small smile, Hermione could see her eyes quickly scan over her body and diagnostic bubble. She handed the mug to Harry and maintained a decent distance from them. “Is zere anything else?”

“Thank you,” Hermione said roughly as Harry accepted the mug for her.

“No, thank you – tell Luna I’ll be there shortly,” Harry said with a nod of his head to the tent door in Luna’s general direction.

“Okay,” Fleur turned to leave the tent then paused, Hermione could see the hesitation in her form before the beautiful witch turned back to face her and Hermione was surprised to see tears in the woman’s eyes. “’Ermione – you are ze bravest witch I know – if zere is anything else I can ever do, just say ze word.”

Then she turned quickly on her heel and left the tent without another word. Hermione watched the flap move for a moment before she groaned and pushed herself up into a sitting position with Harry’s help so she could sip the tea he held out to her. It was delicious, warm, sweet, tangy – it felt like cool water on a burn, calming her sore throat. Her eyes flicked down to her left arm, it was turned over so that her forearm was facing downward. She tried to roll it over but found that she couldn’t. The dittany may not have been able to properly repair the tendons because of the dark magic, or her body just needed more time to heal and reconnect the nerves. She would know as the days went by whether or not the damage was permanent. Her eyes flicked back to Harry’s and she sighed.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she said slowly.

She was starting to feel exhaustion set in across her body. The potion that had been keeping her heart hammering firmly in her chest had worn off halfway through her healing and now her pulse, while still steady, thrummed much more slowly in her chest. Her body felt like lead and _everything_ hurt – she suspected that it would for a long while and she desperately wanted to rest. But she needed to know what was on her arm. She’d delayed it long enough. Whatever had happened to her was going to be there for the rest of her life and she needed to know so she could try to deal with it.

“Harry, _what_ did she carve into my arm.”

Harry looked at her for a long minute before he slowly set down her tea and carefully grabbed her left forearm. She was relieved to find that she could, at the very least, _feel_ his contact against her skin now, and that meant that recovery was still on the table. She eyed it in anxious anticipation as Harry turned it over and then she felt her heart stutter.

 _MUDBLOOD_.

It was carved into her forearm from elbow to wrist in clean thin red lines, perfectly legible against her skin. She heard herself inhale sharply and she felt Harry’s grip tighten. Then she felt her throat close up and her chest tighten.

-x-x-

Harry sighed. He felt like he was a hundred years old. His body ached, his stomach was empty and he needed to eat – though he doubted he would have the stomach for it right now. He had watched Hermione’s face turn even whiter than it already was as her expression went blank at the sight of the word engraved on her arm. But she didn’t react. She had just stared at it blankly. It hurt him, it had physically hurt him to see her disconnect. Just like it had hurt him to watch her scream in pain under his hands as he healed her – just like it had hurt him the first time, long ago in the tall grass by the ocean. Somehow though, this time it felt worse. After everything, all the training, all the preparation – he still had not been able to protect her. She had _still_ been injured, _again_ , and it was his fault.

He knew Ron was a risk. He should have just obliviated everything from his stupid moronic little mind. Fuck he should have just killed him – dealing with the fallout from the Weasleys would have been better than dealing with the injuries that Hermione had sustained. It wasn’t just the physical ones he was worried about, it was the unseen mental trauma that scared him. Yes, her body was exhausted, her nerves were damaged, and her left arm still hung limply – but physically she was fine. The left arm was the only extensive physical wound she had received – the rest of the damage was cellular or nerve related. She _would_ be fine. Given some sleep, some food, and some time she would be able to walk around again and become as strong if not even stronger than before. Even if her body always had a small tremble or even if her arm never fully healed, she would be physically fine.

Mentally though, he wasn’t sure. The _cruciatus_ drove people insane, he’d seen what it had done to Neville’s parents and Hermione had been tortured extensively. So far, she appeared okay – she’d told him that Narcissa gave her something that was like an adrenaline rush and a kick to the heart. It had cleared her head through the torture and kept her sane. She appeared to be completely capable of rational thought, her memory seemed intact, and she seemed like herself – mostly. Except that he knew she was closing in on herself and pushing the trauma down deep within. Her none reaction to her dead arm was proof of that. After starring at it blankly for several long moments she had emotionlessly stated that she wanted to come help bury Dobby.

He knew that she needed to deal with what had happened but that she also needed to do it in her own time. He couldn’t force her to think about it or acknowledge it, he could only love her and be there to pick up the pieces when and if she ever broke. He’d hold her in the night when she woke up screaming, and eventually, when she was ready, he would talk about it with her. For now though, he’d agree to let her help provided that she sat while he dug the hole and left her diagnostic charm active so he could monitor it. It lingered above her like a permanent fixture – displaying her vitals for everyone to see, though he doubted anyone but them and Fleur could read it. He bundled her in a warm thick sweater since her jacket was hacked to pieces and he dried the rest of her clothes and his magically.

They both still looked like shit and were covered in blood. They needed a shower desperately, then food, then rest – but first he needed to bury his friend.

That was the only thing keeping the torment of emotion inside him from exploding outwards, he knew he was a ticking time bomb. He wanted to stay calm for Hermione and he wanted to do Dobby justice. Those were his top priorities – but once he buried the elf he needed to deal with his third concern. _Ron_. He didn’t trust that the idiot wouldn’t try to apparate away in shame and it needed to be addressed immediately. The only thing stopping him from doing anything about the boy right now was that he _knew_ Dean was keeping an eye on him and he knew that Ron was clearly in shock.

Though, if Harry was being honest, he did not want to deal with Ron right now – he didn’t want to deal with him at all. He was exhausted and spent, he was angry and devastated, he wanted nothing more than to bury his friend and mourn the loss. He wanted to hold Hermione to his chest in the safety of their tent.

Angry as he was, he wanted to be alone and shut out the world. He knew if he dealt with Ron now it would be rageful, swift and it would be an execution. He wondered if he would regret it later. He wasn’t sure, he sort of doubted it – but even still somehow the thought of making that decision right now didn’t sit well with him. He already reeked of death, it was tangled in his hair and it hung off his clothes. He’d already slaughtered almost half a dozen people today – he was tired. He wanted a fucking second to breath and to be with Hermione.

He stepped through the tent entrance with her plastered firmly to his side. He spotted Luna on the small grassy hill to the left where she had moved Dobby to – clearly this was the gravesite she had selected. He could make out Ron sitting on a rock closer to the cottage with his head held in his hands. Dean was still gripping his shoulder but now Bill stood nearby whispering quickly with Fleur. Seeing the younger red head made his blood boil so he ignored them all and turned away, walking Hermione toward Luna.

The blonde had gathered a shovel and flowers as she promised, she’d even weaved together a little crown that she’d placed on the small elf’s head. As they grew closer Harry saw that she’d vanished the blood from the elf’s shirt and sewn the rip shut – by hand.

His heart ached in his chest painfully as he set Hermione down gently on the sand and then turned to pick up the shovel. Luna was so understanding that sometimes it hurt. The late afternoon sun beat down on his neck as he struck the shovel into the dirt, and with each hit he released a small amount of his anger and tossed the soil to the side. He dug in silence, Luna kneeling next to Hermione quietly as her body continued to tremble gently. It took half an hour for him to dig the hole, place Dobby’s body and shovel the dirt back on top. Luna, bless her kind and beautiful soul, had gathered a large flat rock to use as a tombstone and Harry engraved it before setting it in the ground.

_Here lies Dobby, a Free Elf_

Harry felt a hand on his sleeve as he stood staring blankly at the grave and he turned to see Hermione. She’d pushed herself from the ground on her own accord and was now leaning on him for balance but amazingly was standing on her own.

“Harry I’m so sorry,” her voice had improved a fraction, but it still sounded painful and riddled with exhaustion. She needed to sleep.

He wound his arms easily around her and held her tightly to his side, resting his chin on the top of her head. “So am I.”

He wanted to cry. He wanted her to cry. He wanted her to let out the emotion that he knew she was bottling up – he wanted them to be alone. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to deal with any of this. Not now. Not when the person he cared most about in the world was tired and broken in his arms.

He silently thanked Luna for being the only one there with them – he suspected that she had told the others to stay back and it meant more to him than he could ever say. He would need to tell her someday, though he also suspected that she already knew how he felt.

“Should I say something?” Luna said gently as she came to stand beside Hermione. “I would like to – I would like to thank him. Thank you, Dobby for rescuing me from that dungeon – it was unfair that you died – you were a brave elf who deserved so much more. Thank you, I hope that you can now truly be free.”

The words hung heavy in the air around them. There was nothing else to add. Harry wasn’t sure how long they stood there for but eventually he saw Bill approaching from the cottage as the others made their way inside and he tensed. He didn’t know Bill very well, but he seemed to remember that the eldest Weasley was far more reasonable than some of the others, more like Arthur. Harry hoped he was because he was about to test the theory. A thought had been lingering in his head from the moment he started to heal Hermione, one that would spare him and Hermione some time. He nodded to Luna who had quietly said goodbye and placed a gentle hand on Hermione’s shoulder before leaving. She strolled past Bill with a polite greeting and continued on to the cottage.

“Harry, Hermione – are – are you two okay?” Bill stopped several feet away, giving them a wide berth as he looked cautiously between the two of them. They must look more foreboding than Harry realized because even Bill seemed nervous to be around them. “Dean said that you rescued them from Malfoy Manor.”

“Yes,” Harry said as he eyed the Weasley carefully. “We were brought there for questioning – but we’re alright.”

“Okay,” Bill hesitated, his eyes continued to flick over them uneasily before he spoke much more softly, though he made no motion to move any closer. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived to help, and I’m sorry about your friend – I was at work and couldn’t leave without it being suspicious. Fleur let me know the second you got here though, she’s tended to Griphook and Mr. Ollivander – she said that you’ve taken care of yourselves but – do you need anything? You two are welcome to stay in the cottage, it’s small but we have enough room for everyone.”

“Thank you, Bill – the offer is appreciated but we’ll stay in the tent,” Harry said. There was no way they would be able to sleep or feel safe in a house full of people – and there was no way he was going anywhere near Ron right now.

“Maybe some more tea” Hermione croaked up beside him and he saw Bill’s face soften.

“We can make it ourselves if we could just borrow some more ginger and honey,” Harry offered to Bill.

“Of course – I’ll bring some out.”

Harry hesitated. Bill’s statement about him staying at work to avoid suspicion made him hopeful that his next words wouldn’t be met with anger or distrust. So far Bill seemed very much like Arthur – not just in his logical approach but in his mannerisms too. Either way it was worth a shot, Harry didn’t feel like stunning anyone right now or getting into a second fight – though he would if he needed too. He was just hopeful Bill might be able to grant him one small reprieve.

“Bill,” Harry said slowly, gauging the man’s response. “Do you control the wards here – can you control who enters _and_ who leaves?”

“Yes,” Bill’s brow furrowed in confusion. “When Fleur and I moved in here the access rights became mine and I’ve set them up based on what we decided with the Order – why?”

“I need to ask you a favour – and I need you to trust me,” Harry said as he fixed Bill with a firm look, then spoke his next words slowly. “I’m going to ask this of you because I’m confident that the alternative would be – _less_ than _desirable_ for you and your family – and I need your help until I can come up with an alternative that’s a bit less… _permanent_.”

“Okay,” Bill said slowly, his eyes narrowing and his shoulders tensing.

“I need you to ward Ron _in_.”

“In?”

“Yes _in_ – he cannot apparate or leave the premise – not by foot or any other way. Can you do that?”

Bill looked at him for a long moment and Harry felt his own shoulders tense with anticipation. Bill wasn’t an idiot. He had surely worked out what the less than desirable alternative was – or he at least was thinking about it. He didn’t know what Bill thought of him or if he would agree, though the general unease in the man’s stance as he eyed him carefully was obvious.

“I can do that,” Bill said finally, and Harry watched in surprise as he slowly pulled his wand from his sleeve and uttered several quick incantations that Harry didn’t recognize. The cautious use of his wand led Harry to believe that Bill had most definitely flagged him as a potential danger, and the wizard was careful to return his wand to his pocket with very clear and deliberate motions. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why I just confined my brother to a 500 meter radius of the cottage are you?”

“Not today, Hermione needs rest,” Harry hesitated, eyeing Bill. Perhaps the man was as trustworthy as Arthur. “We can talk tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Hermione was looking up at Bill with a relief that was palpable, and Bill’s eyes widened. It was clear he had no idea exactly what was going on, but he seemed to understand that whatever he had done was important.

Harry hesitate once more. “Bill, do you have any plans of Gringotts?”

Bill’s eyes narrowed again, they flicked between Harry and Hermione, calculating them. He seemed to debate pushing for more information but thought better of it. Each time his eyes fell on Hermione his gaze softened and finally he let out a long heavy sigh.

“Yes, I do.”

“Bring those too – tomorrow is Saturday, right? Come to the tent at noon and we can talk then.”

“Alright,” Bill’s voice was tight, but he nodded as Harry started to turn away.

After three steps with Hermione, Harry stopped and turned back to Bill. The man was watching them curiously and Harry caught his eye firmly. A small part of him, the old part of Harry, hated himself for what he was about to say – Bill did not deserve his anger or his rage or his mistrust and contempt. He didn’t know the man, the man had given him no reason to be suspicious – but a much larger part of Harry did not care. There were much large things at stake than Bill’s feelings or his own humanity.

“Bill, I need to know that I can trust you,” Harry said slowly, letting the words hang heavy in the air between them before he continued. He didn’t miss the shift in Bill’s demeanor as the seriousness of Harry’s voice hit him hard. He had already seemed nervous of them throughout the exchange but now it was showing on his face. “If you let Ron out, we will _lose_ this war – _all of us_. So I think it goes without saying – that if it happens – it _will_ be the last thing you ever do.”

Bill stared at him unblinkingly for a long moment as the ocean waves rang out between them. The threat weighed heavy in the air as the sun was starting to set over the water and the red glow began casting shadows across the low surrounding hills.

“My dad said to trust you,” Bill said slowly, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. “A few weeks ago, he told me – that if I ever ran into you, I was to do anything that you needed. That I was to help without question.”

Bill paused and his eyes trailed over Harry’s face, his long tangled hair, down his dirty violent frame and back up to his vibrant green eyes.

“I trust my father, Harry,” he said quietly. His eyes almost looked sad for a moment as he shook his head. “He told me that you’d changed – he didn’t say how – but I don’t think I understood what he meant until now.”

Bill swallowed and took a deep breath.

“I swear to you, on my life – on Fleur’s life – Ronald Weasley will not leave this cottage until you deem it so. You have my word – so please, don’t use the alternative.”

(to be continued...)

-x-x-

So while I complete my three full length novels (one apocalyptic fantasy, one murder mystery comedy, and one I’m not sure how to classify) I decided to take on another side project in addition to working this fic and my Dramione fic _Red Ink_.

I have added a link to my profile (www.darklotuscollective.com) to the associated endeavor, if you are interested, please feel free to check it out :)

I will try to get part two of this uploaded tomorrow :)

And if nothing else, know that you have my unconditional love. I hope you have a great weekend <3

TT


	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Here is part two of the Shell Cottage chapter (which grew again and was split in half.. sorry), I wasn’t able to get back to it until today :( This week got away from me as I worked on my non-fic works.  
> Good news is the third part will be uploaded today as well - yay 13k words! Happy Valentine's Day weekend! I hope you had a good day and that your weekend is awesome <3  
> 2\. More Shell Cottage happenings!  
> 3\. Please let me know what you think, your feedback is always appreciated! 
> 
> Know that you are loved <3 truly and dearly, each and every one of you.
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> \- Violence (though this seems typical now)  
> \- Dealing with the aftermath of torture, some gruesome descriptions
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

After the conversation with Bill, Harry had carried Hermione to the tent. He’d warded it with their typical alarms before he brought her inside and then they’d both immediately went to shower. The process had been difficult as he had to hold her up for part of it – her legs were finally giving out beneath her and she wasn’t able to stand straight anymore. He’d also had to help her wash her hair since she could not use her left arm – that was a task and a half. Though she had _insisted_ on taking the shower despite her exhaustion and Harry couldn’t blame her – she wanted to _wash_ _off_ what had happened, cleaning spells just didn’t cut it – she needed it. And he would gladly do whatever she needed.

Then, he’d forced them both to eat the food that Fleur had left outside their tent and he’d made Hermione a second cup of tea before he finally carried her to bed and made her tip back a vile and a half of dreamless sleep potion. She’d rejected the notion at first, she’d never liked the idea of using sleeping aids as they could lead to bad habits and they left you vulnerable and open to attack. But logic got the better of her. The better the rest she got the quicker she would heal and the faster she could get back to normal. So begrudgingly, she’d tipped back the potion and curled into Harry’s arms, trusting him to keep her safe throughout the night while she was all but unconscious.

That night was the first time in months that she’d slept like a rock. Harry couldn’t recall her moving an inch or making a peep throughout the whole night and she hadn’t woken up until 10am the next morning despite the fact that she’d passed out at 7pm the day before.

After fifteen hours of deep uninterrupted sleep the improvement in her heath was shocking. She was still exhausted, still sore – she’d said that her muscles felt pulled and strained and she was tired beyond belief, but the colour had returned to her face and she’d been able to pull herself up from bed and move around on her own without trouble. While her physical injuries from the blade had been excruciatingly painful to receive, aside from the shoulder wound, none of them were deep – so the muscle damage was actually quite minimal. The lingering pain she felt was from the _cruciatus_ curse and it would heal over time as the inflammation in her nerves and organs went down and her body healed on its own. It wasn’t something that dittany could repair – what she really needed now was time, good food and more rest.

Her body still continuously quivered with minor tremors, but when she’d sat at the table for breakfast, she’d discovered that she was now able to move the fingers of her left hand – barely. She had smiled at Harry brightly in excitement and then burst into uncontrollable tears. He’d scrambled out of his seat so quickly the chair fell over and he’d knocked the tea mugs off the table with a crash as he jumped over the surface to gather her in his arms. He’d held her to his chest while she cried and wretched on the floor. He’d stroked her hair and kissed her temple as she wept for her dead arm and told him that she had wanted to die at the Manor – that at one point, she thought she _had_ died and she’d been devastated when she realized that she was still alive. She’d sobbed and told him that she was ‘ _sorry’_ – that she would never leave him, that she hadn’t meant it, that she loved him and would stay with him through everything.

His heart had burned in his chest and he’d tasted bile at the back of his throat when he’d realized that she felt _guilty_. She felt guilty that she’d had a moment of weakness and had wished for death instead of pushing through it for him. It broke his heart and made him feel sick that she would so readily accept her fate for him and then blame herself for not being strong enough. He’d felt his eyes prickle with hot tears. He’d held her tighter, whispering in her ear that she’d done nothing wrong, that she’d been so brave, that he loved her more than anything, that none of this was her fault, and that she was going to be okay. They were okay. She shouldn’t feel guilty. That he would never leave her again and he was always going to be there for her. They’d sat there for an hour until she finally calmed down and then went to go shower. Harry cleaned up the mess while she was gone and made a second round of breakfast. He’d even repaired her favourite mug and made her another cup of tea using the kettle they’d borrowed from Fleur. This time, she’d been able to eat and Harry had felt some of the heaviness in his chest ease away.

He knew that she still had to deal with everything in her own time, that what happened wouldn’t just disappear overnight, or after a single breakdown – but her outburst had been the first recognition she’d made to acknowledge what happened and it was progress. He could see the lines of tension in her face ease as she ate the second round of eggs and drank her fresh tea. He’d felt his own heart heal as a strange feeling of calm filled the tent between them.

They’d finished eating just before Bill arrived with a collection of papers under his arms and then they’d spent the afternoon reviewing through the data with him. He’d eyed them cautiously and answered their initial questions, he’d even accepted a coffee from Harry. They hadn’t revealed why Harry had requested the plans, and Bill, to his credit, hadn’t pushed for anything. It _was_ clear that he’d been struggling to keep his own questions at bay – his tense jaw and shoulders were evidence of that fact. But he had seemed pleased when Harry asked him to return the next day at the same time to discuss things further.

Perhaps Bill was hoping that with time they would let him in – or that they would at least trust him with _some_ knowledge of their plans. He was a patient man. A calm man. He was very much like a younger version of Arthur and thus both Harry and Hermione had felt comfortable having him in the tent for the afternoon. They’d only flinched at his movements twice and Bill, the ever-keen observer, had noticed immediately and changed the way he moved to address it. He’d kept his hands in sight and flat on the table at all times. He’d also slowly placed his wand in the middle of the table, then left it there throughout the meeting as if he hoped to show them he was no threat.

After Bill left Harry and Hermione had taken stock of the wands that Harry had managed to collect from the Manor during their exit fight. They had Wormtail’s, Draco’s, and Bellatrix’s. They had both agreed to store Bellatrix’s wand in Hermione’s black box next to the werewolf bands and the cursed dagger that Harry had collected after Hermione fell asleep the night before. They’d decided that using Draco’s and Wormtail’s would be safest, but they planned to have Mr. Ollivander inspect the wands once the old man woke up. Apparently, the apparition had been hard on him and he had blacked out unconscious on the beach because he was so weak. Bill had said that he still had not woken up. They’d also agreed that at some point they would need to speak with the goblin about the bank – but not yet. They wanted to formalize a plan first and Hermione didn’t want to see anyone else just yet – which suited Harry just fine. So, they’d stayed in the tent the remainder of the evening, Hermione curled in Harry’s arms quietly, both of them reading.

They’d repeated the process the following day and after a second night of sleeping for fifteen hours like a rock Hermione was able to raise her left arm four inches from her side – but the tremors still continued. She’d grimaced at them any time they inhibited her actions, but she bore through it relentlessly, refusing to allow Harry to pour her tea and groaning outwardly through gritted teeth as she fought to keep her hand steady while taking notes. Bill had watched her tenacious behavior during their meeting with a quiet astonished look of awe for several minutes. Then he’d offered to contact Arthur about the tremors as it was possible that Shacklebolt might know something that would help, given his experience as an Auror, Shacklebolt was well versed with dark magic and the lingering effects of the _cruciatus_.

Hermione had agreed to let Bill contact his dad, then waited until the eldest Weasley had left the tent to pen a note to Arthur herself with her shaky hand. Harry and her had debated informing Arthur and asking for his assistance the evening before but had decided to wait another day or two to see how her injuries progressed. They both knew that Arthur was at some point bound to pop by the cottage on Order related business – there was no way that he _wouldn’t_ find out about them being there or what had happened given enough time, so they might as well get it over with.

But Hermione wanted to tell Arthur herself. _She_ had wanted to be the one to inform him on her terms, which Harry fully supported. So, despite the fact that her penmanship looked like that of a child’s, she’d determinedly wrote him her letter.

The response had been almost immediate:

_Hermione,_

_I’ve already contacted Shacklebolt regarding the lingering effects of the cruciatus – I believe there is a good chance that we can help you. The second he gets back to me I will inform you immediately, until then – rest, eat and calming draught should help minimize the side effects._

_I think it goes without saying that I am beyond devastated to hear that you have had to endure such an abominable act. There are no words to express my sorrow over the agony you must be in, how sorry I am and how deeply I wish there was a way to reverse what happened. Though in my heart I know how strong you are, and I know that you would not want me fawning all over you, or showering you with sympathy – so despite my natural instinct to do just that I will force myself to trust in your strength. You will_ _be okay. I know you will._

_With that said, you know that I respect your and Harry’s secrecy – but I must ask – Do you need anything? Can I send anything to you? Do you require more potions or potions ingredients? Do you need any medical supplies? Is there anything that I can do, anything at all?_

_Fleur contacted me yesterday letting me know that some prisoners from Malfoy Manor had arrived and that everyone was safe and accounted for – but she did not list the names as we can never be too careful with our communications and most of our messages are sent in code which makes using unique names all the more difficult (I would like to thank you for that brilliant idea, it is courtesy of you that we now use book ciphers)._

_I never imagined that you and Harry might be in the group that arrived – I was planning to come by this week to Shell Cottage to check in, I dare say I would have been surprised to see you both there. I am still planning to come by, and if it is aright with you I would love to see you both. Perhaps, if you are comfortable with it and feeling up to it, we could use this as an opportunity to discuss the plan of attack we have for the werewolf den as I would like to pick your brain on the banding magic as part of our final preparations._

_That said – your health and wellbeing is paramount so please let me know what you think is best. I cannot stress this enough Hermione; I am here for you and Harry with whatever you need – if you need help with your recovery, your mission, or you simply just need to talk to someone – or anything else, please let me know._

_As always, I will not let Bill know that we have already spoken and I will act surprised when he contacts me._

_Sending you my love,_

_Arthur_

The response had left Hermione in silent tears and her hand had begun to shake too violently to respond. After three failed attempts she’d finally relented and gave the pen to Harry who thanked Arthur on her behalf below her scribbled mess. They’d agreed to coordinate a meeting to discuss the werewolf den and then they’d both ate a quiet dinner.

Somehow over those first few days they’d managed to avoid seeing anyone but Bill or Luna. Luna came by Sunday night after dinner with cookies and had had tea with them. Fleur seemed determined to fatten the girl back up and was constantly baking in the cottage – they’d noticed the smell of the goodies wafting down to the tent when the wind was just right. Dean, or at least someone, was keeping Ron away from them and for that Harry was grateful. His anger toward the red head had not ceased, it still burned like a raging inferno, but not seeing Ron’s face at least kept his anger at bay and gave Hermione time to heal in peace. Though Harry suspected it was only a matter of time until they came head to head once more. He just hoped that perhaps this time Ron would be able to act like an adult and not provoke his own demise.

As it turned out, Bill was off from work the following week and he had agreed to spend his time helping them with their continued investigation into Gringotts. On Monday he told them that he’d contact his father regarding the tremors and that the Order might have a solution. Bill had seemed rather happy about this and outwardly expressed his hope that they might be able to cure Hermione’s tremors. He’d also told them that his father asked to hold a meeting with a select few members of the Order on Wednesday night – Bill didn’t know what it was regarding, but he indicated that his father had requested that they both attend. Hermione and Harry pretended the news was new and agreed to come to the cottage for the meeting at 7pm sharp to meet with the Order. They had, of course, already know the plan.

Arthur had written Hermione back early Monday morning letting them know that the Order was available to meet on Wednesday night. He’d also indicated that their new legilimens resource had ample experience with the _cruciatus_ curse and that his might be able to help her with the tremors. While neither one of them was eager to trust a stranger, they resolved to give the mystery man a shot if Arthur said it was safe. So far, the tremors had ceased to fade, and Hermione was already beginning to feel desperate to try whatever she could.

When Tuesday morning rolled around and Hermione was looking much more energetic and starting to get antsy Harry had agreed to train with her. Aside from the gentle quiver that constantly ran through her body she was fully functional – still a bit sore and her stamina had certainly decreased, but as with the werewolf injury the faster she forced her body into normal routine the quicker she would heal. Both mentally and physically – Harry knew that getting her back to her strong physical self was just as important as getting rest and eating healthily. So, he tethered her left arm to her side at a ninety-degree bend, partially stunning it in place so that it wouldn’t get injured or swing around wildly while they trained. He’d made her promise not to overdo it, deferred their meeting with Bill until later in the afternoon, then they set out in a slow jog around the perimeter of the cottage.

-x-x-

“Still doing okay?”

“Yes Harry,” Hermione panted and shot him a look. He had asked her that three times since they set off on their jog and they’d only lapped the cottage twice. While she appreciated his concern it was beginning to grate on her nerves, for some reason this injury seemed to get to him on a deeper level than even the werewolf wounds had, and even though he would never admit it to her, she couldn’t help but feel like he was deeply disturbed by what had happened at the Manor. He wasn’t coddling her, but he _was_ monitoring her very closely. “You _know_ I’m fine – you cast a diagnostic charm on me for fuck’s sake.”

Harry laughed and gave her a semi apologetic look. “I’m sorry – I know. I promise I’ll stop asking.”

“Can you at least dispel the stupid thing – I feel like an idiot with it chasing along behind me,” she glanced over her shoulder at the diagnostic charm that was doing its best to keep up with their jog but was lagging several feet behind.

“No way,” Harry grinned at her. “It’s far too funny.”

She rolled her eyes and did the best that she could to ignore the charm that was chasing along behind them. It was embarrassing to have her medical stats floating on display, the charm was like an annoying younger sibling that desperately wanted to join in but couldn’t keep up – or like a coach jogging along behind her and shouting out any imperfection in her health through vibrant displays of colour. She would tolerate it only because she knew if she dispelled it on her own Harry would force her back to the tent to rest – rightfully so. As much as she hated it, she _knew_ he wasn’t wrong. She needed to get back to normal routine, but she needed to do it carefully. She sighed as they rounded into their third lap.

“Uggh – running with my arm like this _sucks!_ ” she groaned loudly.

Hermione’s outward distaste and sarcasm regarding her arm had been increasing over the last few days regardless of the minor improvements that she’d seen in its functionality. She could twitch her fingers and move it a few inches, but she fucking hated the thing. She knew her detached and perverse commentary on her arm was a coping mechanism, and she knew that Harry knew that too. She often glared at it like it was a foreign object and Harry had even caught her talking to it in frustration – she’d been criticizing it for not moving and threatening it to do as she asked. Right now though, her agitation rested solely on the fact that the stiff limb was fixed to her side and ruining the natural flow of her body as she ran.

“Though I suppose this is better than it just _flapping_ around like a dead _flobberworm_ ,” she spat with annoyance as she glared at her arm and cursed its existence.

“We should ask Nasir – this new legilimens guys, if he knows anything about deep tissue muscle damage from a cursed blade,” Harry said. She could feel his eyes on her, he was watching her reaction and glancing back to her diagnostic bubble to check her heart rate.

“I thought that too,” Hermione nodded as they finally slowed to a stop in front of the tent after their third lap. Her body was already aching, and she had only run a fraction of the distance she normally would be able to – she knew that it would take time to fully recover but _understanding_ that did little to quell her annoyance with her own body. She hated this feeling. She hated that she was feeling it _again_. Once after the werewolf was enough and she felt itchy and anxious to get back to what she knew she was capable of.

“Did Arthur tell you anything else about him?”

“No,” Hermione could remember waking up on Monday and reading the reply then calling out to Harry over the journal asking if he might know who Nasir was. He hadn’t, and Arthur had not told them anything else. She silently summoned her purse from the tent and pulled out a snack, tossing one to Harry.

“Well I guess we find out tomorrow huh,” Harry said with a frown as he took a seat on the sand in front of the tent. “It’s strange – Nasir showing up out of nowhere. I won’t lie – I don’t like it. We should talk to Arthur privately before we let Nasir do anything, I want to make sure that we can trust him.”

“I know,” Hermione scowled as she took a seat next to Harry. “I wonder where he came from – for him to just show up like this and be as skilled as Arthur has eluded to… what could he have been doing before?”

“No idea,” Harry sighed. “He must be extremely talented if he has Shacklebolt beat on the dark arts front.”

“No kidding,” Hermione said with a smirk as she ate her snack in vicious bites. Her appetite had come roaring back to life on the second day at Shell Cottage and Harry had been far too pleased to stuff her with food. She paused and frowned again before giving Harry a thoughtful look. “Harry – is it awful that I almost don’t care where he came from or who he is as long as he knows how to heal tremors and deep tissue damage? I mean – I do care, of course I do. We need to make sure that we can trust him but – I guess I’ll just be a little more welcoming to him if he proves _useful_.”

“It’s not awful at all,” Harry shook his head and gave her a firm look. “I get the impression from Arthur’s notes that perhaps the man has a… questionable past. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t said anything else about him, maybe Nasir’s not entirely aboveboard – but neither are we. It doesn’t matter though – what matters is whether or not we can trust him and whether or not he can help.”

Hermione smiled softly at Harry and then dropped her eyes back to the sand as she chewed slowly. She felt the same way Harry did. Aside from general curiosity she truly didn’t care who Nasir was or what he had done. She just wanted to know that he wouldn’t fuck them over or be a danger to their mission or the werewolf den infiltration efforts. She wanted to make sure that Arthur and Shacklebolt were safe working with him and she wanted to be healed. None of the other details mattered to her anymore, they would have a long time ago – but she was a different person back then.

“Fuck it’s going to weird isn’t it – being in a room with so many people. I’m going to have to tether my hands to my pants so I don’t accidentally dice one of them,” he sighed and pushed his long hair back from his face. “Fuck this is getting annoying – no matter how many times I wash it, it still feels like it’s laced with crap – can you cut this off after we practice? It’s putting my nerves on edge.”

Hermione grinned at him as she carefully lowered herself onto her back and began her modified work out. His point about being surrounded by Order members in a meeting was valid, and one she would need to think more on later. She wasn’t really sure how she would handle it – they didn’t know who all would be coming.

“I was wondering how long you would go before you lost your patience with it,” she smiled at him as she watched him tie his hair into a quick knot in frustration before continuing his set.

“It wasn’t so bad when it was colder,” Harry grunted as he pumped through his pushups. “But now that it’s getting warmer – fuck it – it’s got to go.”

“You know my hand is shaky,” Hermione panted. “Do you want to ask Luna to do it?”

“No – I don’t care what it looks like, just lop it off.”

“Alright – after practice I’ll grab the scissors, I don’t trust my hand with a _diffindo_ by your face yet.”

“Okay – oh and since we are going up to the cottage tomorrow anyways, we can talk to Mr. Ollivander – Bill said he’s finally awake.”

“Yeah,” Hermione grunted, her mind circling back to the Deathly Hallows and the Elder Wand. She and Harry had both agreed they needed to discuss its existence with the old man, and they had been patiently waiting for him to wake up. They hadn’t spent a lot of time talking about what Xenophilius had told them yet, given what had happened, but in the next few days now that she functional again she knew that they would get back to task and examine the Hallows along with everything else.

After a much shorter version of their usual work out they completed target practice for an hour before they drew two circles in the sand and began their stationary dueling. It was a good opportunity to get familiar with Wormtail’s wand and Harry practiced with Draco’s. It was approaching lunch time when Hermione thought she noticed a face in the cottage window, but she wasn’t able to get a good look at the person without putting herself at risk of getting hit. So she ignored it and concentrated on the duel. She barely managed over an hour of practice before she needed to stop, they dropped onto the cool sand and drank water from the bottle Hermione had as she tugged at the collar of her loose-fitting sweater. Sweat was poured down her back, and her muscles were exhausted from the exercise.

“Fucking hell, this should _not_ be that hard.”

“You’re doing great.”

“No, I’m doing pathetic – I’m missing my target at least half the time because of this _stupid_ fucking tremor!” she held her hand out before him and it vibrated in the air. She groaned loudly and flopped onto her back, her left-hand jutting into the air awkwardly as it was still fastened to her side. “And then _this_ stupid fucking thing!”

She sat back up angrily and gestured at her left arm exasperation. The diagnostic charm, which was still loyally floating by her head, flashed a silent red light as her heart rate increased with rage.

“I look like one of those old _barbie_ dolls! It’s _completely_ fucking useless – either hanging their dead or stuck in a permanent handshake – _fuck_! I _swear_ to Merlin – if it doesn’t get better or if Nasir can’t fix it, I want it _CUT OFF!_ ” she was panting with fury and scowling angrily at her arm. “Harry promise me – _promise_ me that if it never gets better you will cut it off – you _know_ that wizard healers refuse to amputate unless the limb will cause you death – you know they will refuse.”

Harry stared at her and his expression looked saddened. “It _will_ heal Hermione.”

She sighed heavily and stared at him solidly. “I’m saying if it _doesn’t_ heal.”

“If it doesn’t heal – you want me to cut off your left arm?”

“Yes,” she said firmly, holding his gaze through narrowed eyes. “Because St. Mungo’s won’t do it, they’ll expect me to just live out my life with it hanging there.”

He sighed and dropped his head into his hand, his elbow resting on his knee. “Hermione I–“

“Harry,” she cut him off and tightened her eyes.

He let out a deep heavy sigh. “ _Fine_ – but _only_ if we are _absolutely_ sure it cannot be healed or improved. You can’t grow it back once it’s gone you know.”

“I know – thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for agreeing to dismember you,” Harry murmured into his hand before he tilted his head to look at her. His brow was creased but his eyes looked soft. “I love you. Even with your dangly flobberworm arm.”

Hermione bit her lip, trying to stop the small smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I know. I love you too Harry.”

A slow smile spread over his lips as they sat there watching each other for a long quiet moment. “Will you cut my hair?”

“You don’t want to do a full duel?”

“No – I know your legs are dead, you were slouching towards the end of circle practice – we’ll duel tomorrow morning. Let’s spend the afternoon going through our notes and getting ready for tomorrow – we meet with Bill in a few hours anyways,” Harry said as he cancelled the diagnostic charm that was floating diligently above her head.

“Alright,” Hermione nodded.

Harry was right. He knew her better than anyone and despite her efforts to hide it her legs _were_ dead. She’d been struggling to keep up in the circle practice near the end and of course he had seen it. Anyone else wouldn’t have but he was perfectly attuned to her body in every way – _every_ way. That thought brought a small blush to her face as she summoned the scissors and a small stool from her open purse. Despite being alone in the tent again nothing had happened between them, things had been too devasting, too raw and she’d been in bad shape.

Today was the first day that she’d thought about it, probably because today was the first day that actually felt normal. She felt normal – mostly. Sure, she was horribly out of shape and hadn’t been able to do half of what she normally would because her body was still injured – but getting back to routine made the weight on her shoulders feel a bit less heavy. She scooted across the ground and placed the stool behind Harry, sitting on it with a small groan and looking at his hair.

“Harry, this will look really terrible if I cut it with one shaky hand – are you sure you don’t want me to get Luna?”

“No, I want you to do it – if it turns out _that_ bad, which I doubt, it will probably just grow back over night anyways.”

“Alright,” Hermione smiled again and ran her only functioning hand through Harry’s hair. “I can’t believe how thick it is.”

He laughed and leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut as she carefully began snipping at his hair.

She started by cutting straight across it at the base of his neck, chunks several inches long fell onto the sand around him until his hair was only as long as his shoulders. Then she carefully snipped it shorter in small pieces. Her hand trembled consistently as she worked but she found the entire process calming. Maybe it was the fine concentration, or maybe it was the sound of the scissors or the steady crashing waves in the background, she wasn’t sure, but she felt her shoulders relax and her hand’s vibration dulled to a low hum.

When she finally finished with the scissors, she summoned her mini-clippers from her purse. She’d bought them to shave a patch on Crookshanks when he’d gotten an infection in fourth year – but the second she’d pulled them out he’d run away and hid, so she’d never used them on the anything.

She gently pushed Harry’s head forward and had him hold the longer bits of hair out of the way, then she flicked on the clippers and cleaned up the hair low on his neck. Twice her hand twitched so bad the clippers skipped across his hair and cut some places shorter. She sore under her breath but Harry never once moved an inch, he remained seated, still as a statue in front of her until she brushed away the last few strands of hair and declared herself done.

“How does it look?” Harry had turned around on his knees to face her and was resting both hands on her thighs as he kneeled between them.

“A little funny,” she grinned and laughed, sending the clippers back to her bag. Smiling this much felt weird, it made the muscles in her face hurt – they hadn’t been used so much in a long while.

He actually looked pretty good. It had turned into some sort of long textured tapered french crop, but she hadn’t buzzed the hair down to the skin – except in the two awkward spots where her hand had shaken so violently the clippers skipped. Though frankly the thin straight lines just made him look more dangerous. Overall it was less wild, but somehow the short hair made him seem even _more_ serious and threatening than before. It complimented his good bone structure better than the crazed mop that had been sitting there only moments ago. She ran her shaking hand through it as she looked at his face and smiled at the way he leaned into her touch.

“Honestly – it’s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I like it,” she dropped her hand back down to rest on top of his. “You look sort of rugged and battle worn. Serious. And maybe even a little viking-esque.”

“I _am_ rugged and battle worn,” he smirked up at her and ran his right hand through his hair before he returned it to her thigh and gave a gentle squeeze. “You left it a bit longer on the top huh?”

“Yeah – just a bit,” she found her heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. Cutting his hair had been so calming, so domestic, so normal – it felt good in a way that she couldn’t describe, and him insisting that she do it despite her tremors made her soul ache. Harry was everything to her – she wanted him. Always. In every meaning of the word and knowing that he accepted and loved her tremors and all meant more to her than she would ever be able to express. “I thought it would give me something to grab onto.”

Harry grinned and leaned up to kiss her. His lips slid easily over hers and Hermione felt a warmth in her chest as she breathed out against him. _Everything_ in this moment felt perfect. His tongue traced slowly along her lips and she shuddered as she opened her mouth to him. He was gripping her thigh securely beneath her hand and he’d brought his opposite hand up to cup her face. As his thumb gently swept over her cheek bone she slid her tongue over his and reveled in the feel. She'd missed this. His love was so encompassing, unconditional and pure that it made all her anguish and scars fade away.

 _Maybe things will be okay. Maybe I can get by without this arm_. _Maybe we can still win this_.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?!”

Hermione leaned back from Harry to see Ron standing twenty feet away and behind him, Dean was running out of the cottage with Luna close on his heels.

(To be continued...)

Ps chapter 38 is posted already :) <3

-x-x-


	38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Here is part three of the Shell Cottage chapter, the showdown. Happy V-Day *you* are my valentine's and I adore you all <3  
> 2\. More Shell Cottage happenings, though this time you’ll get a bit of Ron and Bill POV (just for something different). I hope that you like this chapter and that it satisfies some of your blood lust for Ron ;) hahaha I know it may not be what you wanted.  
> 3\. Please let me know what you think, your feedback is always appreciated! 
> 
> Know that you are loved <3 truly and dearly, each and every one of you.
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> \- Violence (though this seems typical now)  
> \- Dealing with the aftermath of torture, some gruesome descriptions
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

“I came out here to see if you guys are okay – and you’re fucking snogging?! You’re just snogging like _everything_ is fucking _fine_?! What the fuck?! How long have you two been fucking?”

Harry had turned to face the redhead the second he heard his voice just as Hermione had, and he felt the rage in his chest crack through its chains. The wards on the tent were only set to a twenty-foot radius to avoid them being set-off constantly by Luna when she took her daily walks or by Fleur – anything more would have been an annoyance and was unnecessary since the entire cottage property was already warded, he’d inspected them himself the day before and had added his own wards at the perimeter to ensure their safety – so he hadn’t heard the redhead approach. Though now he was regretting that decision. He should have just dealt with Luna’s daily chiming.

Harry stood slowly to his feet as his eyes quickly darted to the cottage, noting the figures that were speeding from it behind Ron. From the velocity at which Dean and Luna were running toward them it seemed that Ron had slipped past them.

 _They really had been actively keeping him away from us,_ Harry thought as his eyes shifted back to Ron’s angry form. Nothing about him was threatening, everything about his offensive stance was wrong.

“Since about three months after you left _Ronald_ ,” Hermione spat viciously. Her voice was still raspier, lower and rougher than normal, Harry knew it was possible the change in tone may remain permanent, but he was surprised at how much it made her words sound even more dangerous and cutting. She sounded ruthless. She’d stood from her stool next to Harry and was glaring angrily at the boy. “Not that it’s any of you _fucking_ business.”

“W-What?!” Ron was red in the face and the wand in his hand was pointed at Harry. His eyes had widened in disbelief at her words. “You two – you’re – you _actually_ fucked?! Harry, you piece of shit!”

To any wizard watching the exchange aside from Hermione it would have appeared like magic had been forgotten between the two males. But Harry had blocked the two spells that Ron tried to throw at him wandlessly, without moving a muscle or making a sound – the only reason why Harry hadn't thrown anything back was because it would be Ron's death sentence. And because he had indirectly promised Bill not to kill his younger brother so long as Bill kept him contained. Though right now Harry was seriously wondering if he cared about that deal. It would be so easy. So satisfying to let his rage out and just kill him or obliviate everything from his stupid clueless mind.

Ron, unsure of the reason why his spells had been ineffective, angrily stormed the distance between them as Harry stepped forward – and he threw a punch at Harry’s face. Harry dodged it easily by side stepping his fist, grabbed Ron by the collar and shoved him back several feet.

" _Don’t_ push it Ron," Harry whispered darkly, his eyes glinting as the rage that had been bottled up inside him from the last few days began to leak out in a steady stream. The energy on the beach had shifted and despite the bright afternoon sunlight it felt cold and dark. Harry could feel a similar energy pouring from Hermione as she stood behind him, watching the exchange carefully.

Harry had known that this moment was coming, he’d felt it brewing each day that passed since the Manor – but he had been hoping that it would be delayed longer. He was enjoying his quiet existence with Hermione, researching and occasional tea with Luna. He’d even found his interactions with Bill to be surprisingly enjoyable. It had been peaceful. Calm. It had been _exactly_ what they had needed to process what had happened, to repair the damage, to learn to be themselves again and to move forward from the horrors of what had happened. His kiss with Hermione seconds ago had been bliss – that and their workout and exchange with his haircut had been their first solid step back into normal since Ron showed up and nearly destroyed their lives. But now, that bubble, that false reality of a pleasant and quiet life had been shattered by none other than the idiotic redhead that had been the one to bring the horrors upon them in the first place.

"You’re sleeping with her?” Ron’s voice and face seemed desperate as he looked between the two of them.

“ _Deal_ with it _Ronald_ ,” Hermione hissed as she took a step forward. “ _Our_ relationship isn’t your concern – go back to the cottage before I rearrange your face.”

Ron’s entire face went red and he growled in anger. Harry dodged his second punch and pushed him away again, harder, Ron stumbled this time and nearly fell over. Harry could feel his shoulders tensing – he’d had enough. He didn’t have it in him to tolerate any more of Ron’s insane jealously and he doubted that Hermione did either. Dean and Luna had closed most of the distance and he could hear them yelling at Ron to stop. Dean looked terrified and Luna’s eyes were wide.

"Last warning,” Harry said darkly as he took another step toward Ron. “Don’t push me – or despite what I promised your brother you won’t come out of this in one piece – go back to the cottage with Luna and Dean.”

It appeared that the mention of Bill was the final straw, the flame that lit the fuse, and Harry watched as Ron’s face twisted into an angry mess. The explosion they knew was coming had finally arrived. The redhead was beyond thinking reasonably now. His ears went red, his eyes were livid, and his mouth opened with a snarl before a bitter outburst of words poured from his mouth.

“OH RIGHT, I forgot that you two talk to _Bill_ now! BILL! Of course you would – I mean why not? You’re fucking friends with him now, right? I see him go to your tent each day?! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! You’ll talk to _him_ but not to _me_ – _we’ve_ been friends for fucking _YEARS_ and you two want _nothing_ to do me – yet you have no issues with _Bill!_ You’re a right fucking bastard you know that Harry?! After what I told you – you _knew_ how I felt and you _still_ fucked her! Is _one_ not enough? You can’t _just_ have my _sister,_ you had to have _her_ too! Tell me – were you with her while you were with Ginny?” Ron was rambling with blind rage now; his hands were flying before him as he screamed. His anger was pouring from him in waves of broad accusations as he threw anything and everything his furious brain could conjure at Harry. “You piece of shit! And then after _everything_ she went through, you’re out here dragging her around for what? Exercise?! EXERCISE! After what happened? You’re fucking sick Harry! I heard her screaming in that tent the other day! What the fuck was even going on in there?! What sort of twisted fucked up thing is going on between you two?!”

Harry felt himself snap, it happened so quickly that he didn’t even realize he’d closed the space between them and grabbed Ron by the jacket, practically lifting him from the ground and pulling his face only inches from his own.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Harry’s voice was low and deadly, it echoed into the tense air around them.

Luna was frozen on spot next to Dean, they both stood several feet back while Hermione radiated death, her face twisted into a look of disgust and hatred. Harry could feel her fury, had she had use of her left arm she would have been strangling him herself right now – in fact she might just do it with one hand.

Harry’s eyes were burning as he spat his next words. “After ‘ _everything’_ that’s happened to her – you mean _EVERYTHING_ that happened because of what you did! Because _you_ couldn’t follow directions! Because you can’t keep your fucking mouth shut! WE WERE CAUGHT BECAUSE OF _YOU_!”

Harry punched Ron square in the face for the third time that week. The sound was sickening. His nose shattered and blood exploded from his face as a strangled cry erupted from his mouth. The sound of the impact rattled out through the air as Ron landed hard on his back against the sand, eyes wide with terror. But this time Harry didn’t stop, there was no pillar nearby for him to punch, there was no other task that needed his attention, no emergency that needed to be addressed – so instead he stood straddling the boy, grabbing his jacket again and pulling his head from the ground. He leered down at Ron as his hands trembled with rage and his words poured as a dark whisper from his mouth, oozing with hatred as they rumbled against Ron’s ear.

“Those screams you heard – that’s what it sounds like when you pour dittany over cursed wounds you fucking idiot. It fucking _burns_! It was agony and it was _entirely_ your fault! If you would have stayed on lookout, we wouldn’t have been captured and Hermione wouldn’t have been carved up like a fucking pumpkin!” Harry fingers tightened on Ron’s collar and the redhead could only grip at his hands in panic as he realized that no one around them was going to save him. No one was stopping it. “We _knew_ that you were too fucking arrogant and selfish to see the bigger picture – that’s why we don’t trust you! When are you going to open your eyes Ron?! When are you going to realize what’s going on around you – this isn’t about you! WE ARE IN A FUCKING _WAR_!! People are DYING! Dobby is _dead_ Ron, HE’S DEAD! And it’s entirely on you!”

Harry punched him again and Ron collided with the ground once more. His eyes rolled as he tried to scramble away but Harry stomped on his thigh with his foot to stop him. Ron cried out in pain as Harry stood shaking above him, his full body vibrated as he reached down and grabbed Ron by the collar, hauling his face from the ground once more. He could see Dean twitching from the corner of his eye, but his mind tuned it out and instead his eyes bore into Ron’s as Ron stared at him in horror.

“We left you as a look out for a reason Ron, because you’re a risk! Because you’re a danger to our safety and our mission!" Harry was screaming in his face, each word like a dagger in Ron’s chest. “The _only_ reason we didn’t stun you and bring you back home to Arthur was because we _KNEW_ you wouldn’t stay, we knew that you were too ignorant and stupid to understand, and we fucking _knew_ that you would have run off somewhere the first chance you got – and then you'd have gotten caught and you would have exposed everything! _EVERYTHING_! DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU COULD HAVE DONE! YOU COULD HAVE SINGLE HANDEDLY COST US THE WAR!! The only reason we didn’t obliviate you or _kill_ you when Fenrir had you was because we didn’t have a clean shot!”

Harry drew in a heavy breath and laughed, the sound was hollow and merciless, his face showed no hint of humour. His eyes were as empty as the sound he’d made, and he gripped Ron so tightly the boy choked.

“ _Fuck_ if I could go back in time, I would fucking kill you the second you showed up in order to stop what happened at that Manor – I would have split you in half like a log and left your body in the snow. I wouldn’t hesitate, not for a moment – I wouldn’t lose one second of sleep over it – _Not. One_.”

Harry threw Ron’s body down hard into the ground like a rag doll and he forced himself to stagger backwards. His whole body was shaking as he pulled Draco’s wand from his pocket. He saw Ron’s eyes widen in fear before the redhead started sputtering blood from his mouth as he begged him not to kill him. Luna was calling to him – crying for him to stop as Dean held her back but Harry ignored her. He ignored all of them. He moved his wand quickly, everyone but Hermione, who had her own wand drawn, flinched and closed their eyes. Ron raised a hand out before him, pleas for mercy poured from his lips as he curled into a ball and clenched his eyes shut.

But there was no flash of green. No spewing blood. Nothing happened.

Silence rang out around them as Ron trembled on the ground, blood pouring from his nose and down his jacket until slowly, he opened his eyes and looked up at Harry in confusion.

“You – are _never_ leaving this cottage,” Harry’s wand was still pointed at Ron’s chest. His eyes were cold, dead, his shoulders were heaving, and his voice was dark. “Wards or not – you will _never_ leave this place in one piece.”

Ron shifted and then glanced down at his chest as if he could feel something invisible to the eye. “W-What did you –“

"Get the fuck away from me – before I change my mind and kill you with my bare hands,” Harry whispered as he lowered his wand. “I don’t need another life on my conscious – especially not one as worthless, moronic and selfish as yours."

Dean rushed forward and grabbed Ron from the ground, dragging him up and pulling him away as Luna helped him. They all but carried him as they ran back toward the cottage, neither one of them stopping to look behind them as they dragged Ron away.

“How many tethers did you add?” Hermione’s voice was cold and detached as she came to stand next to him. He could see her arm twitching as she held her wand – but he knew this time it wasn’t from the tremors. He knew she was still contemplating cursing Ron herself.

“Nine,” he said quietly.

“That’s a good number,” Hermione nodded. Her eyes were watching Ron’s stumbling form as he tried to brush Luna and Dean away from him on the way to the cottage. For some reason, and perhaps it was a testament to just how deeply the war had settled into her bones, the idea of Ron attempting to apparate while permanently tethered to the cottage and splitting himself into nine different pieces was calming. It brought comfort to her heart that they had a secondary protective option should Bill betray them, but mostly she just found it appealing.

-x-x-

Ron stormed into the cottage, the door banging loudly against the wall as he barged through the kitchen past his brother and up the stairs to his temporary room. His legs were shaking as he walked, tears of terror had caused the blood from his smashed nose to leak even further down his jacket and he angrily wiped his sleeve over his face only to groan in immense pain. His nose and cheek bone were destroyed. He bit his lip as a fresh round of tears started and grabbed his backpack from the floor and began stuffing random items into it.

His mind was racing, his thoughts were scattered, he couldn’t focus from the pain, he couldn’t breathe – he couldn’t _believe_ it. His friend, his _best_ friend, had fucked the girl he loved. He had told Harry how he felt, he had _told_ him. And yet there they were snogging openly on the beach after she had cut his hair. The interaction up until they kissed was something that Ron could only describe as being _loving_ , and it had made his stomach curl with jealousy and rage.

He’d known from the moment he first arrived at their tent that _something_ was going on between them, but he pretended it wasn’t true. He knew from the moment he saw them appear on the beach, from the way that Harry had run to her and held her, from the way that he looked at her that that ‘ _something’_ was serious. He knew it but he denied it. He hadn’t meant half of the things he’d screamed, he’d only said them because he was upset, because he was hurt. When he had seen them kissing – so naturally, so intimately – his rational brain had switched off and he’d lost it. He could no longer pretend that his worst fear wasn’t true – he’d _seen_ it and he’d been forced to acknowledge it. He had snapped and completely lost his temper, spewing hatred and anger – not all of it was even directed at them but he’d done it just the same. Some of it, he knew, was directed at himself over what had happened.

He’d made _one_ mistake. One. He’d made a stupid fucking error and it was like everyone around him held it over his head and continuously punished him for it. They wouldn’t let him live it down. He’d gone back to the woods looking for them the second he got away from the snatchers. He’d spent a week out there on his own searching around, but he hadn’t been able to find them. Unsure of what else to do he had gone to Bill and asked him for help – he had asked that Bill let him stay there secretly because he _knew_ that his family would berate him.

Of course it hadn’t stayed secret long. His mum had found out and all hell broke loose. She’d called him a ‘ _failure’_ , called him a ‘ _shameful_ _friend’_ , an ‘ _embarrassment’_ – she’d told him that _she_ was ashamed of him. Even his dad had yelled at him, and his dad _never_ yelled. He’d told him that he was ‘ _disappointed’,_ and Ron had cried and thrown up after they left. He’d stopped eating, he’d cried more, he’d gone out looking for Harry and Hermione every other day for the first month after he left – desperate to find them and make amends. But he couldn’t. He’d looked everywhere and hadn’t been able to find a single trace. Once November started to approach, he’d resigned himself to sit at the cottage and mope in his room. He was disgusted with himself; he was angry, he was hurt – he was exhausted from apparating all over England and coming up with nothing.

Bill had forced him to come down from his room and help Fleur with some minor potion making, which had only resulted in him being scolded and lectured more. It had shattered the little remains of his confidence and made him feel completely useless. He had never been good at potions – only Hermione was, and Harry. So he chopped only the simplest ingredients because that was all Fleur would allow and he’d spent the remainder of the time sitting depressed in his bedroom.

Christmas had been… well it had been the absolute worst moment of his entire life. It was the moment he realized that his entire family hated him. They all thought he was useless; a coward and they tore into him like hungry lions. When he’d found out that Ginny was apparently gay and that she and Harry had broken up he’d become so angry. Knowing that Harry was out there with the girl he loved and was _allegedly_ single had made him panic.

He had always been jealous of Harry and Hermione’s friendship – they’d always seemed to get along so well. Things between them had always been natural, whereas his relationship with Hermione had always held some tension. He’d thought it was sexual tension, because they both liked each other, because opposites attract, because both of them were afraid to admit their feelings. It had taken him three weeks after Christmas to even leave his bedroom after what happened. He’d been so depressed he’d lost fifteen pounds and stopped talking all together. Then Bill, in typical Bill fashion, had finally stormed upstairs and hauled him down from his room – forcing him to speak and start chopping more ingredients for Fleur.

Each day that passed he’d thought about them, he’d wondered where they were or what they might be doing. He’d wondered if they’d found any new Horcruxes or if they’d located the sword. He’d stopped apparating around looking for them though – since his dad and Bill had said that things were getting pretty dangerous out there and that it was risky to go anywhere alone or to show up in new areas. It wasn’t until his dad popped by the cottage a few weeks ago to talk to Bill that Ron decided he needed to find them again.

Ron had been sitting quietly on the stairwell to his bedroom when he’d caught part of the conversation – his dad had told Bill that Harry and Hermione had recently gotten into some trouble and that things were really bad. He’d explicitly told Bill that should he ever come across them – he was to help them with anything they asked for. While his dad gave little information as to what was going on or why he knew about it, it was the tone of his voice that resonated with Ron and drew him down into the kitchen.

_“Dad what happened?”_

_“Oh – Ron, I didn’t know you were awake,” he’d been sleeping most afternoons, so it was a pretty fair assumption for his dad to make. “No need to worry, they are alright.”_

_“But you said they got into trouble – was Hermione injured? Are they okay?”_

_“Yes, yes they’re okay don’t you worry – it’s just – things are getting really tough out there Ron. They’re out numbered and we are out resourced, so it makes every action we take even more critical. It makes every person we have on our side even more valuable – if we don’t help each other where we can, when we can, despite the danger – then I’m afraid son, that we don’t stand a chance in this.”_

It was after this that Ron had decided to venture back out in search for them despite the _danger_ and despite the fact that he had no idea where he was going. So when he heard their voices and the glowing orb had shown up he had taken it as a sign.

They needed his help – because everyone needed to work together if they were going to win the war. So he’d readily grabbed his bag and apparated. When he arrived though, he felt like he had stumbled into a lion’s den.

They were wild, vicious and skittish. They’d looked at him like he’d shown up with three heads – or no head. It had caught him off guard and he didn’t know how to react. They’d treated him like an outsider, either not talking to him at all or speaking to him in an impersonal and cold way. It had grated on his nerves. It ate away at him and made him feel uncomfortable and unwanted. He couldn’t wrap his head around it – his dad had made it seem like they needed all the help they could get and yet they made him feel like he wasn’t needed. Like he was an inconvenience to them. They didn’t behave anything like the people he knew. He’d tried the best he could to ignore it, he’d tried to pretend like his friends of six years weren’t treating him like a complete stranger or a threat and he’d tried to be nice.

But after he’d woke in the middle of the night to a blinding glare of light and heard Hermione speaking to Harry – undoubtably in _his_ bed, he couldn’t keep it in anymore. It was like the puzzle suddenly fit together and their bizarre behaviour made sense. They were hiding something from him. The coldness, the awkwardness, their distance from him and yet close proximity to each other – it was because something had happened between them. They were _together_. He knew it. And they were hiding it from him and feeding him bullshit tasks like being a lookout in order to keep him away from them – then they would hold hands the second he was out of sight. He’d tried to force them to admit it during breakfast, but Hermione had cut him off like a dagger and all but told him to shut the fuck up.

It made his skin crawl to think that his two best friends were sneaking around behind his back and trying to make him out to be an idiot instead of just telling him something was going on. He couldn’t believe that she had _slept_ with Harry – in his bunk, together – while he was there.

 _Who the fuck does that and then tries to brush it off like it either didn’t happen or wasn’t a big deal?_ How stupid did they think he was?

He’d been sitting at the edge of Lovegood’s property thinking it over in his head when he came to the realization – finally understanding what was going on between his two friends and why they’d been treating him like they had. He was angry that they had excluded him from the mission simply so that they could be alone he decided ‘ _fuck them’_ and trudged across the swamp to join them. It was absolute bullshit that they would cut him out of the mission and treat him like an incompetent idiot just so that they could be alone together – yet lo and behold when he opened the door they were holding hands _again_ , and he’d lost it.

It wasn’t until they got captured and were brought to the Manor that he started to wonder if he might have been wrong in his assessment of them. The man behind Hermione had exploded into pieces outside Lovegood’s but he hadn’t realized what was going on until at the Manor Scabior stated that ‘ _they’_ had _obliterated_ his men. Then Ron had begun to wonder _who_ had done it: Harry or Hermione? Yet he still struggled to accept it – he wondered if it were possible at all. He couldn’t make himself believe that his friends would be capable of such a violent act, it didn’t make any sense. Hermione was always adamantly against violence and Harry, despite his temper, would never kill someone.

As the events of the Manor unfolded his temper and panic got the best of him. When Bellatrix had touched Hermione, he’d panicked and called out. He hadn’t thought that it would result in her being tortured – he had been _trying_ to help and he was livid that Harry, who had been sneaking around with her, just stood there blankly. He hadn’t even looked like he fucking cared about her.

And what did Ron get for trying to help? He got punched in the fucking face that’s what. Harry had looked like he was going to kill him and for the very first time in six years Ron had felt genuinely afraid of his friend. He had never seen Harry go berserk like that – the guy had punched a wall for Merlin’s sake! It had momentarily made Ron think that maybe he was wrong – that maybe Harry did care about Hermione, that _maybe_ Harry was capable of splitting a man in half. But then he had sat there and watched as Harry calmly let Luna trace her fingers over his face. He’d watched as Harry spoke to her like they were best friends and Ron’s anger had surged yet again. Clearly Harry was just being a dick to _him_ because of Hermione. He’d even been nice to Dean – and Harry and Dean had been of rough terms because of Ginny – so Ron was confident that it was him. Harry had a problem with him and it was because of his sneaky relationship with Hermione.

He didn’t remember anything after screaming at Draco and he’d woken up at Shell Cottage with Dean watching him like a hawk. He had wanted to go to them the second they landed. He’d seen them fall from the sky from inside the cottage and made to run out there, but Dean had held him back. When he’d finally managed to get out there with everyone, he’d thought he was going to be sick. Hermione was covered in dried blood and vomit and she looked an inch from death. He had vomited later that evening when he was alone in his room – replaying the images of her battered form in his brain again and again. Unable to unsee it. Just like how he couldn’t get the image of Harry running to her and holding her out of his mind. The way Harry carried her and how she leaned into him was with a comfort that could only be gained by close intimacy.

Worse than that though, was the cold glare of death she had given him as she sat leaned up against the rock while Harry set-up the tent. He had felt it in his bones, she _hated_ him. She hated him and she _wanted_ him to know that. Between that look and her choosing to stay in the tent with Harry instead of the cottage it was clear that his suspicions were true. She was with Harry. The sounds of her screams and images of her angry hateful face had echoed through his mind that night so badly that he hadn’t slept – instead he’d sobbed in his bed.

He’d still wanted to go see them even after that. He wanted to go apologize, he’d wanted to go see if Hermione was okay – but _both_ Bill and Dean had stopped him. Two days went by and only _Luna_ was allowed to go visit them, or _Fleur_ to bring food, or _Bill_ to go do whatever it was that he was doing with those papers. But not him. Nope. _Ron_ wasn’t _allowed_ to go, and it had made him angrier than anything else.

He knew that Harry and Hermione were upset with him, he knew that their friendship had been damaged, but he deserved the chance to apologize to them. He deserved the chance to talk to them and make things right again. They had been friends for _years_ – they were his _best_ friends. As terrifying as Harry’s explosion in the dungeon had been Ron didn’t seriously believe that Harry would _kill_ him, that was an insane thought, Harry’s reaction had been overdramatic because of the situation they were in. Now that everyone was okay, things would be different. He knew that he could repair the damage and they could get back to normal.

At least that was what Ron thought until Harry was towering over him with a dark and supernatural rage, punching him repeatedly in the face while he uttered cutting words that rivaled the ones his mother had thrown at him. He’d felt like he’d been flayed alive. Each sentence had cut deeper and deeper until he’d literally felt his heart aching in his chest more painfully than his smashed face felt.

It had been in _that_ moment that a deep-seated fear he had never known crept over his body. It was the fear you feel when you _know_ you’re about to die and no one is coming to save you. Dean had been _terrified_ of Harry and Luna – well Ron could only assume that Luna knew she couldn’t do anything to stop it and had maintained her safe distance. And for the first time since he left them in September, Ron felt like he _saw_ Harry.

 _Truly_ saw him, and it petrified him.

 _This_ was not the Harry he knew – this, was someone else, _something_ else. Death radiated off of him in waves, his eyes were cold and calculating, his movements were precise like a weapon and he wore an expression of comfort and indifference to violence and killing that could only be gained by someone who’d done it before. Ron’s eyes had widened with the realization that he’d been _wrong_ , completely wrong – Harry _would_ kill him. Unquestionably. His eyes had flicked to Hermione in desperation, hoping that she might step in and stop the monster that Harry had become.

But that had only been worse.

Her wand was drawn and resting at her side. She was watching him with a disgusted angry expression, but it was her eyes that made a chill run down his spine. They were dead. Disconnected. Uncaring. Radiating the exact same indifference that Harry’s did, and it scared him. He’d felt his heart break as the realization collided with him like a branch from the Whomping Willlow. _This_ was not the Hermione he had known either. It was not the Hermione he had fallen in love with. This was a woman torn apart and put back together by sheer force of will and with ragged uneven stitching because she refused to give up – one who would and _had_ sliced apart people behind her in battle, not batting an eye as their blood coated her back. He’d seen it. He just hadn’t _seen_ it.

When Harry drew his wand he _knew_ it was the end, and despite himself he’d groveled like the coward that he was, he’d begged for his life and pleaded with the devil.

Yet for some reason he could not comprehend, Harry had spared him. He felt something strange pull against his body when he moved – it was a sensation he had never experienced. Harry had done _something_ to him, but he didn’t know what. Dean had dragged him away the second that Harry told him to go and he’d fought to get away from the older guy and Luna. He didn’t want to be near them, he didn’t want to be near _anyone_ – he couldn’t breathe. He felt like his world was caving in on him as he realized that he’d not only lost Hermione to Harry but that he’d lost _Hermione_ and _Harry_ in their entirety – they didn’t exist anymore. His friends were gone. The people in that tent were not his friends, they were strangers and he didn’t know them.

The recognition had made him sick to his stomach with anger and devastation, but it was easier to be angry. It was easier to be angry at them and hate them and blame them then to deal with and acknowledge the truth. It was easier to leave – easier to run. He couldn’t deal with the panic and sickness that was swirling within him. He _had_ to get away, he _had_ to leave – he couldn’t stay here anymore.

Harry’s words about him never leaving echoed in his head but he didn’t care – he would leave, he would find a way, because he couldn’t stay here another second.

He wiped the blood from under his nose again as he shoved a second sweater in his bag and then headed downstairs

-x-x-

“Ron?” Bill called, his attention had been immediately pulled up from the papers he had laid out on the kitchen table when the door crashed open. His brother had blown by in a blur and stormed upstairs. “Ron what’s going on?”

No answer was given but he heard Ron rummaging around upstairs, throwing open the closet door angrily and shuffling things around.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, not again,” Bill groaned as he pushed himself up from the table at the sound of Ron’s clunking feet coming back down the stairs. He hadn’t seen his brother leave the house – he’d been in his office collecting more layout drawings while he thought Ron was napping, though now he realized that Dean and Luna were missing as well.

“I zink zat I will take some water to ‘Arry and ‘Ermione,” Fleur said gently, touching Bill’s arm supportively as she passed and headed outside with two empty glasses.

“Good idea,” Bill muttered as Ron stormed into view.

He had yet to tell Ron that he couldn’t apparate away or leave the property – he had figured that the conversation wouldn’t go over well, so he had been delaying it. Even if Ron tried it nothing would happen, the wards would prevent the apparition from even starting to take place so he would only find himself standing in the same spot unmoved. If he tried to walk out it would be pretty much the equivalent to him walking into an invisible wall. Though now it looked like the conversation might be required as Ron appeared ready to run away – _again._

He watched as Ron stormed into the room, his face was _smashed_ and blood trickled down his chin, two matching black eyes were forming. His backpack was slung over his shoulder and Bill let out an audible groan. The boy was so predictable that it physically pained him.

“Ron, what’s going on – where are you going?”

“I’m fucking leaving.”

“Yeah well I can see that,” Bill stepped in front of Ron and grabbed the strap of his backpack, pulling it swiftly from the boy’s shoulder. “ _What_ happened?”

“Give that back!” Ron’s voice was tight with anger, but the distress was unmistakable, just like the tear streaks that stained his cheeks. He made a sweep at the bag, but Bill stepped back quickly, pulling it from his reach and letting it hang from his fingers at his side.

“Let’s just calm down okay? What happened – why do you want to leave?”

“Because they don’t fucking need me!” Ron yelled, his face growing red with anger as he grabbed for the bag again but Bill pulled it away. “Because fucking Harry and Hermione are a _fucking_ couple! And I don’t even _know_ them anymore – they’re _completely_ different people! I thought _we_ were supposed to be together, I thought that – well it doesn’t fucking matter now because bloody hell was I fucking wrong! They’ve probably been hooking up behind my back for even longer!! And all I seem to do is get in the way because _apparently_ I can’t do fucking anything right! Because _apparently_ they’ve turned into these soulless _killers_ who want nothing to do with me!”

For a brief moment Bill contemplated asking _which_ person it was that Ron was _supposed_ to be together with since he hadn’t specified, but he thought better of it. Ron was on the verge of having an aneurism and being a smart-ass wasn’t going to defuse the situation.

“Ron, you left them for over _seven_ months,” Bill said, his voice dropping softer. “They were _alone_ , fighting the war together with only each other to rely on – facing terror after terror while you were here with us.”

“OH FUCKING _GREAT_!” Ron bellowed as he looked at Bill with a hateful and pained expression. “So we’re back on _THAT_ topic again?! About how I fucking failed?! So now that you’re suddenly their friend you’re going to take their side and make me feel like shit for leaving again, right? Never mind that my _best_ friend fucking stole the girl I loved – and now I’ve lost them fucking both!”

“No,” Bill said firmly, taking a small step towards Ron. “What I’m saying is – _they_ were forced to move on. They _had_ to in order to survive. You said yourself that when you found them they behaved like wild, rabid dogs. They couldn’t afford to sit around being sad or mourning your loss because they were being chased at _every_ turn Ron. _They_ processed the situation, they _dealt_ with it and then they _moved_ _on_ with their lives while _you_ sat here anguishing over it, analyzing it, and guilt tripping yourself for _months_. It’s still fresh for you, it’s all you’ve been thinking about since you showed up here in September – but for them it probably feels like a _lifetime_ ago.”

Ron frowned but was silent. He was breathing heavy, his eyes glanced to the bag that Bill held in his hand before his face turned into a sneer.

“Yeah, well it doesn’t matter now anyways does it? Because _perfect stupid fucking Harry Potter_ gets the girl and has made it perfectly clear that _I’m_ not good enough to even be around them. Who am I kidding – I’ve _never_ been good enough, they’ve probably just kept me along in the group for a laugh, they’ve probably been together for ages!”

“Fuck, Ron!” Bill’s raised voice and harsh scoff caught Ron off guard and his face faltered. “Is _that_ what this is about? You’re upset that you’re not _special_ enough? That you’re not _talented_ enough to be their friend?”

Ron stood silently before Bill, watching as his older brother laughed savagely and ran his hand through his hair.

Bill fixed Ron with a harsh stare. “You’re still fucking on about being one of _seven_ aren’t you? You’ve carried this baggage around with you since you were a little boy – constantly feeling overshadowed by the family or like you’re not good enough.”

“Because it’s fucking true!” Ron bellowed.

“YOU’RE WRONG,” Bill bellowed back and stepped toward his little brother as the boy stumbled backward.

Ron’s eyes had gone wide with what seemed to be fear. Bill never yelled, not like this. He never laughed so coldly or took such an aggressive stance – and Ron’s uncomfortable and terrified expression made it clear just how much of an impact it had.

“You’re whatever you make yourself out to be Ron! You don’t seriously believe that Hermione, a girl who grew up outside of the magical community had a _better_ shot at becoming great than you did? You went to school with _hundreds_ of fucking kids Ron – _hundreds_ of them! What the fuck does you being one of seven have to do with _anything_?! You had just as much opportunity as _any_ of them to learn, to grow, to prove yourself. _How_ is it possible for any of those other kids to just automatically be _better_ than you because they didn’t happen to have 6 siblings? Do you understand how utterly ridiculous it is to think that way! Harry may have been born famous, but he _kept_ his fame because of _what_ he did, because of _how much_ he accomplished. There were plenty of assholes out there ready to take him down. They were _actively_ trying to and they were willing to soil his name the second he slipped up or embarrassed himself – so you _cannot_ seriously tell me that you believe he had a better shot at becoming exceptional, that he somehow inherently had a better chance than you?”

Bill took a breath, shaking his head angrily before he threw Ron’s backpack hard into the boy’s chest. Ron stumbled back another step as he caught it and looked up at Bill with confusion.

“You have had and continue to have _every_ chance to make yourself who you want to be, Ron – all you have to do is take it. _Stop_ carrying around this ridiculous notion that you’re not good enough just because you come from a large family and yet somehow _everyone_ else in the world is just naturally better than you. I can’t do this anymore Ron. I _get_ that you’re upset about them behaving differently, I _understand_ you’re mad that they’re together but _try_ to look at it from their perspective – _try_ to understand what they’ve been through and how that might have happened. Have you even bothered asking them what happened to them while you were gone? What hells they’ve been through? What sacrifices they may have made? Or have you been too focused on wanting things to just go back to how they were while you moped over your own bad misfortune of having too many siblings that ruin your fucking life?” Bill stepped back, allowing the space to grow between them as silence rang through the air. He looked angry, defeated, disappointed. “I’m not mum or dad, I can’t keep parenting you or protecting you every time you can’t handle your own emotions. And I cannot fix _your_ issues Ron – _you_ need to deal with that shit.”

Ron stood before Bill, his backpack clutched tightly to his chest, the pink that had tinted his face was now a dark shade of red while his jaw trembled slightly. For a moment Bill thought he was about to explode, unleashing a slew of curses before running from the house, but instead a single tear dropped from the corner of his little brother’s eye and Bill realized that his jaw hadn’t been trembling from rage. Ron was heartbroken. He was lost and insecure.

“What should I do Bill?” Ron’s voice was broken and quiet. He sounded like the boy Bill remembered from years ago and it felt like a nail in his heart.

His brother, his stupid, idiot, over emotional little brother was a mess. An absolute right mess of a human who had spent his life unable to process his own emotions all while feeling like he was worthless. Like he couldn’t compete with his siblings or peers. He had even been jealous of Ginny once she started to show her own unique skill despite her being younger. But through his brashness and own inability to analyze himself objectively he failed to realize the one true thing that was holding him back – himself.

“If you want to _be_ someone, if you want to be _something_ that you’re proud of – invest the time. _You_ are the only thing standing in your way. Put in the effort. Learn. Grow. _Earn_ it, Ron,” Bill paused taking a breath before he jerked his head toward the still open front door. The sound of gentle waves crashing echoed into the small cottage. “They have. I saw them training this morning just like you did. That sort of skill doesn’t come from just _talent,_ Ron. It comes from months and _months_ of relentless and ruthless training – which I have no doubt they started right after you left. Imagine what it must have looked like when they were in top shape _before_ what happened at the Manor, imagine how _hard_ they must have worked to become that – try to understand what they must have gone through, Ron. _S_ _omething_ happened to them, something that flicked a switch in their heads and lit a fire under their asses. Something that made them realize the _one_ single truth of this world.”

“What truth?” Ron was hardly breathing; his knuckles had turned white against the backpack he clutched like a lifeline.

“That they _will_ die, Ron, just like the rest of us if they don’t keep up – if they don’t _grow_ up and become more than what they were,” Bill stepped aside from the doorway and made his way back to the kitchen table, gathering his papers and averting his eyes from his brother. “If you want to run away, find another place to hide – _fine_ , I’ll get you a small safe house where you can go be alone and hide from the world and all your problems. I don’t have the time or the energy to stop you this time Ron. Not when people – innocent muggles, witches and wizards are _dying_ every day in this war. In case you haven’t noticed Ron, our world is burning – with or without you here, sticking your head in the sand won’t change that. So either step-up and make something of yourself, become what you’ve always wanted to be – or go cower somewhere else out of my way. I can’t keep doing this. It’s hard enough to keep our Order members _alive_ , I don’t need them leaving anytime they get upset or things get uncomfortable and hard to deal with.”

Bill tucked the rolled papers under his arm and made his way outside, leaving Ron in the cottage alone, standing silently with his bag clutched in his arms.

(to be continued…)

-x-x

Some people let me know that they couldn’t find my profile, so I added the link here:

[www.darklotuscollective.com](http://www.darklotuscollective.com) (just for fun while I complete my novels)

My profile is here: <https://archiveofourown.org/users/T3Tohru/profile>

Next chapter update will be Sunday! <3

TT


	39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. And the Order gathers… well some of them do at least ;) Today there is so much to cover! Also I tried to give Hermione and Harry a little moment to breathe – I’m not 100% evil, just mostly, I do want them to be happy. Life is just a bitch.  
> Also sorry for being a bit late... I really struggled to write this one (balancing this many characters in a scene is a fucking nightmare).  
> 2\. On a personal note: I’m feeling rather proud, our side project released story 3 of 7 this week! Yay!  
> 3\. Please let me know what you think, your feedback is always appreciated! 
> 
> Know that you are loved <3 truly and dearly, each and every one of you.
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> WARNING:  
> \- Smut in this chapter
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

“NOOO!!” Hermione screamed violently. She tried to scramble away, desperately shoving her arm and clawing at the surface beneath her. She felt strong hands grab her wrists and try to hold her steady. “NO!!”

“Hermione! It’s okay it – Umpf!“ the voice was cut off as Hermione felt her hand collide hard with something solid.

“LET GO! NO! LET ME GO!” she was cold, her body was drenched in sweat and her mind was swimming. It was dark, so dark she couldn’t see, her left arm wasn’t working – why wasn’t her left arm working?! Terror coursed through her body and her blood ran cold. She didn’t understand what was going on, but she could feel the burn of the knife against her skin and she fought to get away. She needed to get to Harry – she had to find him.

“Hermione! It’s me! You’re safe – you’re safe, relax – it’s okay.”

“H-Harry?!” she stilled. Her voice was rough and broken. She was trembling violently and panting for air. She could feel tears on her cheeks and she squinted as a dim light started to fill the room around her.

“Yes, Hermione – it’s me – you’re safe, it’s okay,” Harry’s voice echoed near her ear and she felt his warm arms wrap around her. She blinked, finding his face in the darkness – his lip was split.

“Oh my god – Harry! I’m so sorry, I – I didn’t mean to, I –“

“Shhh,” Harry hushed her and pulled her head to his, leaning their foreheads together. “It’s okay, I know – it was just a dream, just a dream, just breathe.”

Hermione gulped for air and closed her eyes tight. The tremors in her body felt worse than the day before, almost as bad as the first day that they had shown up at Shell Cottage. Every muscle in her body was aching and she felt like she’d just been beaten with a stick. She should have listened to Harry; she shouldn’t have pushed it. He’d wanted her to use the dreamless sleep potion another night, but she’d insisted on skipping it. They were running low on stock and she didn’t want to become addicted to it.

Given how well the training had gone the day before and how exhausted she’d been from the physical activity she’d thought that she would have passed out easily and slept soundly through the night. She was wrong. She’d slept terribly and had been lost in the events of Malfoy Manor, screaming in agony and unable to get to Harry. She let out a low shaky breath and collapsed fully into Harry’s arms.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered as her voice trembled almost as bad as her body. She grabbed his arm with her shaking hand and held onto to him tightly. She closed her eyes once more and focused on the heat from his bare chest against her back. “I should have listened to you – Harry, I could have killed you.”

“Impossible,” Harry kissed her temple. She felt him lift her left arm and lay it over her abdomen since she was unable to move it on her own. “You definitely should have used the dreamless sleep potion again – but you wouldn’t have killed me Hermione, I cast a shield charm on myself the second you started to thrash.”

“It felt so real Harry – I was there, at the Manor and I – I couldn’t,” Hermione’s voice faltered, and she shook her head. “What are we going to do Harry? I can’t take that stuff forever, but without it one of these days something could happen.”

The thought of injuring Harry because she was in the middle of a night terror made her feel sick. She clutched him tighter and tried to swallow down the fear that gripped her heart.

“I know,” Harry breathed a low sigh. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that. I think we should ask Nasir – there must be something we can do with occlumency. Maybe there is a way to contain the memories or compartmentalize them for when we’re sleeping. It’s not healthy to bury them, they’ll just manifest themselves in another way but – surely there is something we can do to sleep.”

“Maybe,” Hermione nodded and shivered against him. She felt so weak and vulnerable, and she hated it. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand and took a deep breath. “Let’s ask him tonight – it’s worth it. There has to be something we can do – and if not, I’ll start looking into modifications on the dreamless sleep potion. See if I can make it less addicting.”

Harry nodded against the side of her cheek and continued to hold her firmly to his chest.

“ _Episkey_ ,” she whispered, and she felt Harry smile.

“Thank you,” he wordlessly summoned a cloth from her purse and wiped the blood from his lip, then turned to kiss her temple once more.

Hermione sighed and leaned into his touch. She never wanted to let go of him again. She felt like she couldn’t get close enough to him to settle the ache in her heart and the unease that riddled her body. If there was a way that she could meld into him she would. She needed him. She needed him closer, she needed to know that he was there with her so she could chase the terror from her mind. She turned her head to catch his lips and kissed him slowly, sliding her lips against his familiar ones. She loved the feel of him, of the calm that he brought to her heart, the familiarity, the safety.

“Harry,” she whispered as she nuzzled her nose against his. “Stay with me.”

“Always,” Harry whispered softly against her lips before he captured them.

She could feel his hand slide up her arm and slip around her neck. He threaded his fingers into her hair. The pain in her heart only began to ache more as images from her dream and memories of the Manor flooded her head.

 _Never again – I’m never letting go again_.

She tightened her grip on his forearm and pushed herself into him. She wanted him. It wasn’t lustful or angry, not heated or sensual. It was desperate, it was agony. She felt forlorn, she needed to know that he was there with her and that she hadn’t lost him like she’d thought she had only minutes ago while she’d been tortured on the parlor floor once more. Her dreams had shaken her to her core and she needed to know that he was real. She slid her tongue over his bottom lip and opened her mouth, inviting him in. She breathed against him as he mirrored her movements and immediately slipped his tongue into her mouth. Desperate heat began to tear at her heart, and she gripped at his shoulder, pulling him closer.

He laid her back against the bed, rolling fluidly with her as her left arm slipped from her abdomen to rest at her side. He moved carefully above her as she slid her one good arm around his neck and tried to pull him even closer. She did her best to ignore the fact that her left arm could not participate, that it was just laying limp at her side like some awkward third wheel to their actions. She’d come to terms with her scarred skin, her rougher sounding voice and she’d even been slowly accepting the gentle tremor that encased her body. But the arm was another story. She struggled with it. It was such a huge physical reminder of what had happened, and it limited her – it affected everything. Even Harry. He had to help her with some things now and a small part of her had worried that maybe he would grow weary of her crippled body. She knew that she was projecting her own insecurities, Harry had been nothing but loving and supportive and kind. Yet it was still difficult to swallow down her anxiety. Their moment on the beach after she’d cut his hair had helped immensely, it had settled her heart and forced her brain to focus on the truth: that he loved her. That he didn’t care.

When he dropped his hips against hers, she felt his hard length through his pajama bottoms and groaned. Any doubts she may have had about him still finding her attractive were washed away. She could feel his desire, his want – she could see it in his eyes when he looked at her and in the way that he held her. The arm was her problem, the marks were her problem – and _she_ needed to deal with them. She wouldn’t allow her own self-doubt to poison their bond. She forced the thoughts down and traced her shaking fingers along his bare spine to the waistband of his pajama pants. He pressed into her in response and she groaned once more, her head tilting back as a wave of pleasure rolled through her. Her eyes fluttered open and she caught his gaze above her.

“Hermione,” he whispered, his face was just inches from hers. He was tracing the pad of his thumb gently over her cheek bone. “I love you – I’m never leaving you again.”

“Never again,” she whispered back, feeling a single hot tear pour from the corner of her eye. Her heart thrummed heavy in her chest. “I love you Harry.”

He quickly captured her lips again and she dissolved beneath him. She pulled him closer, she pushed at his pants. His hands moved gently over her body and he slipped her pajama pants and shirt off. She could feel him everywhere, every inch of his body against hers as they desperately tried to become closer. Their kiss deepened and she lifted her hips into him. She moaned as his fingers brushed against her center and pressed against the bundle of nerves between her legs. She gripped his shoulders tighter and tried to remember to breathe.

He pushed into her easily, groaning deeply and holding her tight. Hermione panted against him, she’d yet to catch her breath from the nightmare and now she clung to him as he rolled his hips against hers. It was everything – everything that she needed and everything that she wanted. Their moment outside on the beach had been cut short and their afternoon had been ruined from the tension of their exchange with Ron and then busied with their meeting with Bill. That moment of normalcy had been stolen from them, but she could feel it coming back now. She could feel Harry’s familiar body above hers, the way he thrusted in and out of her wet center with practiced precision. Her body welcomed him, heat stirred within her and she lost herself in it. Her mind was clouded with the heat from his body, his weight, his scent – she shivered under his touch and felt the familiar coil in her core tighten.

“Harry,” she panted against his ear as she pulled him even tighter.

His chest was against hers now, his head resting on the pillow beside hers as his one hand braced her neck and the other was wrapped tightly under her back. There wasn’t a hair of space between them. He was moving against her in slow deep motions, each thrust deliberate as she pushed up into him. She wasn’t going to last long, she felt suffocated by him and his slow thrusts were hitting that spot deep within her that made her toes curl in pleasure.

“Hermione,” he grunted next to her ear as he carefully rolled his hips once more. The motion brushed both her small bundle of nerves and the place deep within her, she trembled against him. “I want you to come with me – I’m not going to last like this.”

She tilted her hips up to him and moaned as he ground into her once more. “Harry I’m going to – right there, just like that–“

He thrust into her deeply several more times and she felt her body tense.

“Harry – fuck, _Harry_ ,” she moaned deeply as a wave of pleasure rushed through her. She fell apart in his arms, clinging to him desperately as he moved twice more within her and then came apart. His low deep groan echoed throughout the tent and rumbled against her ear.

He collapsed on top of her, gathering her limp body in his arms and devouring her lips with his. He kissed her until she couldn’t breath and then trailed his lips over her jaw and down her neck. His hands caressed her skin, slipping over her body and along her face as her hazy eyes followed his face. He looked like he couldn’t get enough of her, like he was afraid to stop touching her or she might disappear.

Exhaustion settled deep within her bones and her eye lids grew heavy. She fought against it – she didn’t want to look away from him either, she didn’t want to take her eyes off of him for a second. She gripped him tightly and traced his skin with her fingers, struggling to keep herself awake as they lay together.

Finally, when her eyes were starting to close against her will, he moved back to kiss her lips softly and shifted his weight to her side. She could feel him softening within her and slipping out.

“What time is it,” she asked sleepily, unable to open her eyes. Her arm was still clutching him tightly and her head was now nestled into his neck. Her body was giving out on her, after the exercise the day before, her terrible sleep and their most recent activities she had nothing left to give. Her body was exhausted, and it was shutting her down.

“4am,” Harry said gently. She heard something come from her purse and she knew that he had summoned a bottle of dreamless sleep potion. “Hermione, will you take just a quarter? Just for tonight, we need to be rested for the meeting tomorrow.”

The fire inside her that had fought against it earlier was gone. He’d put it out with his thorough loving, she had nothing left to give and so she nodded and whispered. “Fine.”

She felt the bottle against her lips and she forced herself to tilt her head and drink it. She didn’t care that she was naked and sweaty, she didn’t care that Harry’s come was leaking out from her slick channel. All she cared was that she was with him and so she let the dark empty night take her as the potion took effect.

-x-x-

“Hermione?” Harry had been watching her eat breakfast, though really it was lunch given that she’d slept past noon. She needed the rest though, so he wasn’t complaining. It was good to see that she seemed much more relaxed than yesterday afternoon. Though her body was trembling harder.

“Yes?” her eyes had darted to him immediately upon hearing his voice and she held a piece of toast a few inches from her mouth.

“You said that the bonding magic was balanced right? And that it could be modified?” Harry asked, watching her face for reaction.

After they’d arrived at Shell Cottage and Hermione had passed out under the effects of the dreamless sleep potion the first night, Harry had laid awake next to her for hours – staring at her and memorizing her every feature. The only time he had left her side was to go collect the cursed dagger from the beach – but otherwise he’d traced his hand over the skin of her knuckles as he held her hand and watched her sleep. His heart had burned in his chest so badly he’d felt sick. He could not stomach the idea of ever losing her, or of anything like this ever happening to her again. While he had been in the dungeon of Malfoy Manor it had killed him that he could not communicate with her. Not only had he not been able to help her, but he wasn’t even able to tell her that she would be okay. That he was there – that he was coming for her.

So, as he watched her sleep a thought had started to form in his head. It was an idea, a concept really – one that he was not sure was even possible. But it was something that would not only give them an advantage but would also help put them both at ease. He’d been waiting for the right time to bring it up. He had wanted to make sure that she was healed and able to function normally before even addressing it. But after last night, after holding her in his arms and feeling every inch of her body against his skin he had to ask – he needed to bring it up. He would not lose her. He couldn’t.

“Yes,” she said again, fixing him with a curious look. They were seated across from one another and her legs were intertwined with his under the table. Since waking she had maintained almost constant contact with him. “It is balanced – without realizing it Arlo made the bond safe, it has no lingering negative effect. Depending on the runes you use and the ‘ _intent’_ of the intent bond you cast – you could hypothetically create a number of different bonds. What are you thinking Harry?”

“Could you create a mutually balanced bond built on Ansuz, Gibo and Eihwaz?” Harry held his coffee mug steady in his hands and watched the understanding quickly cross her face. His heart swelled when a slow smile formed at the corner of her lips.

“Definitely.”

-x-x-

“Are you ready?”

“Almost,” Hermione called. She was gathering up the remaining items that littered her workspace and stuffing them into her purse. She’d spent the entire afternoon working through the arithmancy calculations for the bond Harry had asked about. It was brilliant, and she’d showed Harry the different approaches they could use for it. Though as the afternoon grew late and the meeting approached some tension had started to settle into her body. She was not looking forward to going to the Cottage and she was more tired than she’d been the last two days because of her fitful sleep.

She should have just listened to Harry in the first place and take the stupid potion before going to bed last night. It was insane how much of a difference it made, she was far worse off today without her fifteen hours of uninterrupted sleep than she ever could have anticipated. The night terror had really done a number on her body and set her back, but at least she’d managed to get a solid eight hours of sleep between 4am and noon after making love to Harry. As much as she hated the potion it _did_ work. She’d slept like a rock, unmoving and waking next to Harry who was reading at her side. He’d cast a cleaning charm on her the night before and wrapped her in a collection of thick blankets. Even still her muscles ached, and her body trembled harder than usually. She couldn’t even imagine how she would feel if she’d tried to sleep without the potion for a second time.

After her discussion with Harry at the table that morning she’d set to work on her new project. They did not meet with Bill or complete any training. They did not leave the tent at all and simply spent the day orbiting each other like the earth and moon. Things between them felt normal again, comfortable. Solid. Strong. Not that things between them had changed or grown weaker – just their middle of the night desperate love making had calmed her soul, comforted her and squashed out the doubts that had been creeping into her mind about her injuries and how they might affect their relationship. She had no fears anymore. She and Harry were a unit. They were strong, and together they were unstoppable. Arm or no arm, regardless of whatever else happened, they would be fine.

After an early dinner they both showered and washed their hair – both of them wanted to at least _attempt_ to look decent for the meeting and not appear _too_ wild. The reality was that neither one of them gave a fuck what the Order members thought of them, but they did at minimum want to appear strong and functional and avoid any unnecessary doubts or questions. And the easiest way to do that was to appear _visibly_ put together and _sane_. So, Hermione had fixed her hair and dressed in a pair of clean dark jeans, a long sleeved dark purple shirt and a new black spring jacket that Fleur had dropped off the day before after their meeting with Bill.

Fleur had seen her wounds; she knew that Hermione’s old jacket was beyond saving and she’d actually gone out to a nearby store _specifically_ to get her a new one. It was far more fashionable than anything Hermione owned – but the gesture was so kind and sincere that Hermione had thanked her and even allowed the girl to give her a quick small embrace. The contact had felt a bit weird and made her flinch, but she couldn’t help herself but allow it. Fleur had been putting a huge effort into caring for them in any way that she could and acting normally around them. She was a far more caring and kind woman than many people gave her credit for. The jacket had fit well, so Hermione had accepted it and added a few inner pockets to make it more practical. When she’d looked in the mirror after dressing to ensure that her scars were hidden by the high neck of her shirt, she’d realized that the black almost leather looking material made her appear dark and dangerous. Harry had settled on a similar look – dark jeans and a dark grey long sleeve shirt underneath his black jacket – which only added to the intensity of their combined appearance.

As she closed up her purse, she did her best to bite down the anxiety that was building within her chest. She was not comfortable with the idea of being _in_ the Cottage let alone being in there _surrounded_ by other people. She knew that they would notice her arm and her tremors. The lingering injuries would be impossible to hide and frankly it pissed her off that she’d even considered hiding them at all. She didn’t care if her appearance made them uncomfortable. Fuck them and fuck anyone who dared stare at her in pity.

But she knew that they would. They would stare, they would ask questions and gawk at her and Harry’s flat emotionless cold eyes and demeanor. Depending on who was in the room the conversation would be a complete nightmare, possibly an explosion. They would want answers, they would want to know what she and Harry had been up to and they would be desperate to know if the two of them were alright.

She frowned as she picked up her purse and walked toward Harry who was waiting by the exit. She did not want to talk to people about anything that had happened – it was not their business. It had nothing to do with them. Yet she knew that they would only have the best of intentions, and she knew that she had to talk to at least _some_ of them if she wanted any chance at healing her lingering injuries. She hated this. She just wanted to be alone. The only person she was looking forward to seeing was Arthur, and even then, she was incredibly nervous. What would he think of them when he saw them?

Surely he knew what they were capable of – what they had become. They’d dropped off a dismembered werewolf corpse to him for Merlin’s sake, he _had_ to know.

 _But knowing and seeing are two different things_ , Hermione reminded herself as she followed Harry out of the tent.

She forced her brain to recite the countless notes that Arthur had written them, focusing on his kind words and unconditional love. His words had not stopped or changed in the slightest after they’d dropped off the dead beast, so maybe there was a chance that he would truly accept them without the look of nervous fear that they got from everyone else.

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand people’s hesitation, she wasn’t stupid, she knew what she and Harry looked like. She knew that they both flinched constantly, spoke differently and came across as completely different people than before – because they were. And while she didn’t care what people thought, it still stung to watch people that you used to know look at you like you were a stranger. Like they were terrified of you – and she could not stomach the idea of seeing that look on Arthur’s face. She clung to the hope that Arthur would be like Bill and Fleur – perhaps a bit nervous at first but still accepting, cautiously warming to them and _willing_ to continue interacting with them. Unlike Dean, who was terrified of them and wanted nothing to do with them. Luna was her own case study and Hermione knew that she could not expect unwavering acceptance from people in the way that Luna dished it out.

At the end of the day though, she could and would deal with whatever happened – because the only thing she truly cared about was Harry, and Harry accepted her and what they were just like she did. She just hoped no one was stupid enough to try and coddle her over her arm and shaking body – she just hoped that Arthur had told them to back the fuck off and leave them alone.

She waited quietly on the sand in the warm spring sun as Harry removed the tent pegs and packed their home into her purse. It was the only way that they would feel safe going to the meeting – they would arrive late with their belongings packed so that they could leave if things went wrong. It was what they did, it was how they lived their lives now. They’d already agreed on an apparition location in case they needed to bail, and they even cast a shield charm on themselves before they began making their way across the sand. They trusted Arthur, Bill and Fleur – but they did not know Nasir, and they would not allow themselves to be ambushed.

“Are you ready?” Harry asked her quietly as he fell into step beside her.

“No,” Hermione said after a brief pause. “Are you?”

“Fuck no,” Harry snorted and they continued a few more steps silently before he spoke again. “What do you want to say when they ask?”

“Nothing,” she said through a tight jaw. She knew that he was talking about their appearance and her arm and trembling body. “I’d like to say nothing because it is none of their fucking business – but I doubt that they will let it go depending on who’s there. I just hope Mrs. Weasley isn’t here – she will freak out and I won’t be able to handle it Harry. I don’t want to accidentally hurt someone.”

“I know,” Harry said quietly, his gaze flicking to hers as they walked along the water. “Just keep reminding yourself that they mean well and that more minds are better than one – but don’t say anything you’re not comfortable with. You don’t owe anyone anything. If it is too much we will leave.”

“I know,” Hermione sighed. Harry wasn’t wrong. In a lot of ways telling the Order what happened might open the door to better solutions for her arm. She just really didn’t want to _talk_ about it with them. The thought of having the meeting turn into some kind of impromptu caring group therapy session where everyone had _feelings_ made her nauseous. “I’ll just get it done and over with quick – I’m not going to sit through a fucking pity party.”

“I know,” Harry grinned at her and caught her right hand and gave it a squeeze. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less.”

She could feel Harry’s hold tighten they moved slowly across the sand toward the warm and welcoming looking cottage. Though nothing about it felt welcoming to her. She would take their dark worn out old tent _any_ day over setting foot in that cottage. Yet, she and Harry had not been willing to have anyone else come inside the tent, it was too risky, and it was their home. Only Bill, Luna and occasionally Fleur were allowed to set foot inside. So, they had both agreed that meeting up at the cottage would be better – that way they could come with the tent and all their belongings packed.

She had no idea what to expect when they got inside. She suspected that Arthur would be there with Nasir – and that was already more people than what she was comfortable with. She hadn’t even allowed herself to think on what would happen if she ran into Ron. She hoped for his sake that Luna and Bill were smart enough to lock him up somewhere or this time she would not hesitate to gut the boy in front of his family if he did something stupid. Neither Bill nor Fleur had said anything to them about Ron’s bloody return to the cottage the day before – but he couple wasn’t stupid. They knew. They knew exactly how he was injured. She suspected that Bill was just thankful his brother wasn’t dead.

The windows of the cottage were charmed so that no one could see in but the light from inside still glowed softly against the fading red sun. Its warm spring rays beat down against her back as her shadow grew long before her and her anxiety grew.

 _It’s just another mission_ , she thought. Repeating the words that she’d said to herself while she showered. _Just another task, just another thing that has to be done. Just ignore everyone and focus on the mission. Focus on the task. Keep your hand at your side and stay calm. These people are your friends, you know them, relax. Harry is with me._

They’d reached the cottage and she felt her pulse quicken as she watched Harry reach forward and turn the handle – Bill had told them to just come directly in. It still felt weird though. They did not belong here. This cottage was beautiful, untainted, calm, peaceful, pure. She and Harry were warped, damaged, broken, dark and violent. It made her gut twist over as he opened the door and they slowly stepped inside.

She was immediately met with the rich smell of coffee, cakes, and freshly picked flowers. At the back of her mind she apologized to Bill for serving him their own stale coffee at the tent when clearly, he had much fresher and delicious coffee in his home. Though it made her growing trust and appreciation for him tingle with warmth when she thought about how he had graciously accepted every time and drank the entire mug without complaint.

Her eyes darted around rapidly, she had never been in the cottage before and she quickly took in the small living room to her left, the small doorway at the back of it, the hallway and staircase before her and the kitchen and dining room table to her right. There were several figures sitting around the table and all of them turned their attention to the door as the cold spring air blew in around them. Only a second had passed, but she had taken them all in.

Fleur was standing in the kitchen and pouring mugs of steaming coffee. Bill, who was seated near the head of the table next to Lupin, gave them a smile. Across from Lupin sat Shacklebolt and next to him was a tall man that she’d never seen before in her life, she assumed that it must be Nasir. To her relief, the only other red hair in the room belonged to Arthur, who was standing near Lupin as he’d gotten out of his seat the second the door opened and she knew he was staring at them. The others were upstairs, she could feel it, just like how she could feel the silencing wards that surrounded the main floor and encompassed them the second they entered the cottage. None of the other guests would be privy to the meeting details. Someone had made sure of that.

Her eyes locked to Arthur’s. Blue. Bright blue and filled with love. He looked so genuinely happy to see them that it made a tightness she had not been expecting tug roughly across her heart. She felt Harry’s grip on her hand tighten before he let go and she knew that he had felt it too. There he was, in the flesh. The man who had helped them, accepted them, guided them, offered to give them anything, cared for them and had written her countless kind words and given them unconditional love and support over the last few weeks. She swallowed hard as he took two very slow and cautious steps forward. She could feel everyone’s eyes on them and her discomfort grew. She forced herself to only look at Arthur and ignore everyone else.

“Hermione, Harry,” Arthur said slowly. He took another few slow steps towards them and Hermione noted that he seemed very careful about keeping his hands open and in view. He looked like he wanted to rush over and pull them into a hug but was obviously restraining. “I’m glad you came.”

“Arthur,” she heard his name leave her mouth at the same moment it left Harry’s. “It’s really nice to finally see you again.”

Hermione did not miss the curious look that crossed Bill’s face when both she and Harry had called his father by his first name.

Arthur’s jaw clenched and his eyes welled at her words. He nodded – then closed the distance between them. Neither Hermione nor Harry flinched as he stopped only inches before them, he hesitated visibly for a second and then carefully placed one hand on each of their outer shoulders.

“I have thought about you two every day since you left,” he said in a quiet voice, leaning in closer toward them. His hold on them was brief and he stepped back after a few quick seconds to give them space. “I am, so incredibly thankful that you two are okay. I brought you a care package and some potion supplies – so don’t let me forget to give it to you before I leave.”

Hermione nodded. She was unable to speak but she heard Harry thank him from her side. His physical contact had not made her uncomfortable or made her flinch. She supposed that it was a testament to how fundamentally she trusted this man. It was reminiscent of Luna.

Arthur smiled at them. His eyes were so emotional it was painful. “Let’s take a seat, shall we? I saved the end by the door for you both.”

“Thank you,” Hermione smiled at him, the first honest smile she had given anyone but Harry since September. His consideration seemed to know no bounds and even here he was doing what little he could to keep them comfortable and safe by giving them the exit seats.

She and Harry followed him carefully to the table to take their seat. Arthur’s kindness and familiar welcoming nature had done a lot to calm her nerves, but she still felt skittish and weary as she moved – for she knew that everyone’s eyes – except Bill’s and Fleur’s, were on her. Not Harry. _Her_.

They were watching her shaking form and dangling arm. They watched with worried and wide expressions as she moved it to lay across her lap with her right hand once she took her seat. But before anyone at the table could open their mouths, Fleur bustled over and placed a plate of cookies before them with a warm smile.

“’Arry, ‘Ermione – would you like some coffee?” she asked as she held up the pot and summoned two mugs.

“Please,” Harry answered, and Hermione nodded in agreement.

The entire table, aside from Nasir, seemed to sit on the edge of their seats in silence watching as Fleur poured them two cups – as if they were waiting for the exchange to finish so that they could unleash their questions. It looked like they were almost bursting at the seams. When Fleur had finally finished nosily fixing them their coffee, and Hermione suspected that she’d purposely taken her time doing so, Lupin spoke first.

“Hermione,” his voice was soft and he was looking at her with concern. His eyes were darting between her and Arthur as if he suspected that he’d not been fully informed. Which clearly, he hadn’t. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she stated firmly, reaching for her coffee with a shaking hand. She gave him a tight smile that did not meet her eyes, though she supposed it was better than the glare she’d considered giving him. She knew he was asking out of concern, but she still hated it. It made her anger and anxiety spike. “Had an unfortunate little run in but I’m alright.”

 _Don’t look at me like that_ , she hissed in her mind as she took a sip of her coffee and did her best to lower the mug without spilling any. It was hard. She was so stupid; she should have used the fucking dreamless sleep potion and her tremors wouldn’t have been so bad. Now everyone but Bill, Fleur and Nasir were looking at her like she was wounded.

“A run in – I – Hermione,” Lupin looked like he was struggling to process what he saw. He was staring at her desperately, his eyes flicking to her arm and back to her completely indifferent face. “How did this – what happened to your arm? Is there anything I can do? Arthur! Why didn’t you say something – I could have brought supplies! Why didn’t you bring a healer with us?”

He had turned to glare at Arthur as if the man had known the extent of Hermione’s injuries and done nothing. Which wasn’t the case at all. Arthur knew about her tremors but not about her arm. Hermione felt her eyes harden and she glared at the greying man before her. She liked Lupin, she genuinely did. She understood his concern and she even understood his reaction – but she would not have him assume that Arthur had _not_ helped. Not after everything that Arthur had done for them.

“My arm doesn’t work because Bellatrix jammed a _cursed_ fucking dagger into my shoulder before we escaped the Manor,” Hermione spat, ripping the band-aid off all at once.

The air in the cottage instantly grew tight. She felt like she and Harry had sucked the warmth and life right out of the room, and the death that haunted them filled the space like a thick poisonous gas.

Her annoyance was growing inside her. This was going exactly how she had _not_ wanted it to go. The purpose of the meeting was already forgotten, and all eyes were on her. She was getting the exact looks that she had _not_ wanted to get and the only way she could have felt more uncomfortable was if Mrs. Weasley _had_ been there.

She did not want to spend any portion of this meeting discussing herself or being pitied. She would not tolerate it. She knew that she was reacting more angrily than warranted but her poor sleep had left her exhausted and short tempered. It was time to stamp this out now and get it over and done with so that they could all move on and focus on the werewolf den. She was _not_ about to relive her trauma for the benefit of everyone in this room just so they could satisfy their own curiosity and feel like they had helped by showing their concern.

“Which is not something that a _healer_ could have addressed. There is no _cure_ for _cruciatus_ tremors Lupin – otherwise I would have already fixed this,” she glared around the table. “I have _already_ asked Arthur for help, and I _specifically_ told him not to tell anyone else about what had happened so don’t get mad at him. Now it is my understanding that Nasir is here tonight because he might be able to help, but I was under the impression that the point of tonight’s meeting was to discuss the werewolf banding magic – not to sit around and gape at my arm! Or have I been misinformed? Because I’m perfectly well aware that I’m shaking, I _know_ that my arm _doesn’t_ work and I did not come to this meeting to satisfy everyone’s curiosity over what happened at Malfoy Manor – so unless anyone else here knows anything about curing the lingering effects of the _cruciatus_ or cursed deep tissue damage – I’d appreciate it if you could all stop staring at me like I’m a wounded animal.”

Her words left the room ringing with silence. Lupin looked hurt, Arthur looked tense, Nasir seemed indifferent yet was watching her carefully and Shacklebolt was speechless. Fleur, oddly, gave her a supportive nod. She knew it was harsh, but her body was aching. She did not want to be here. She did not want to be a specimen for them to fawn over, she just wanted to be treated like anyone else around the table and get through the content of the meeting.

“I’m sorry Remus,” Arthur said in a strained voice to Lupin. “I did not know about Hermione’s arm and she asked me not to disclose any of the details about her injuries.”

“Wait – she asked you directly?” It was Bill who spoke and he was looking his father curiously.

“We’ve been in contact,” Harry said rather offhandedly, and Bill’s eyebrow arched. “But that’s besides, the point – We’re not going to rehash what happened at the Manor – we came here to discuss the werewolf den so we can put a stop to it and to meet with Nasir.”

“I’m sorry Hermione,” Lupin said with a pained look on his face. He looked genuinely crushed as his eyes flicked between the two of them. “I didn’t know – I didn’t mean to pry I just – you just – I was caught off guard. You know that I respect your privacy. I only want to help if I can – and I am so sorry for what you have been through.”

“Yes well – shit happens,” Hermione stated dryly and tightened her jaw. She returned her eyes to the papers on the table. “May we start the meeting, please?”

Arthur cleared his throat and awkwardly nodded his head. “Shacklebolt, if you would like to make the introductions?”

“Of course,” Shacklebolt nodded tightly and eyed the both of them warily. Her anger and words had surprised him, and he was looking at them as if something had clicked into place in his head. As if he’d figured something out that Hermione was unaware of. “As you’ve already noted, Nasir is here – so I’d like to introduce you to him. He is a member of the Order and was helping with the war efforts in Bulgaria. However, I requested his return to England to assist with this operation. Nasir has agreed to do whatever he can to help you out.”

Nasir nodded to them but made no motion of reaching out to shake hands, for this Hermione was grateful and she and Harry both nodded back in his direction before Shacklebolt continued in a lower tone.

“I want to thank you both for doing what you did – for getting everyone out, but I will not ask you discuss it any further. Arthur would you like to go through the plans that you and Bill have drafted?”

“Of course,” Arthur smiled but it felt forced. Then he launched into an explanation of everything they had been working on so far while Bill took notes.

The details were… concerning to say the least.

The den, as it turned out, was multiple layers underground and housed not only the banded werewolves but also the captives that were awaiting transformation. The entire facility was heavily warded and guarded by rotating watch pairs. There were four main sewer lines that crossed beneath the den that then divided up into small lines that threaded throughout the city. In order to attack the den, they needed to close off each of the four lines and then push their way into the den toward the center. Once at the center they could destroy the facility using a complicated modified muggle explosion that Arthur had spent the last few weeks developing. The blast would ignite the main gas line to the building and would cause a large enough explosion to obliterate the den and wipe out the werewolves and bonded pairs.

Nasir had apparently mapped out the entire base and collected enough data on their movements that he could predict within 97.8% certainty exactly where each member of the den would be and when. Which meant that they knew their attack window was limited to certain days and certain times and that the window was only seven and a half minutes long.

During those seven and a half minutes they needed to seal the sewer connections, cut the main gas line feed, ward it to prevent the explosion from igniting the entire city, take out the guards, breach the wards undetected, re-ward the building to contain the explosion and place the bomb inside the den on the lowest level in the lab room to guarantee maximum destruction. The plan was incredibly complicated and dangerous, and it remained incomplete because they were divided on whether or not it was the proper solution. Seven and a half minutes did not give them enough time to _rescue_ anyone – it was barely enough time to blow the den up and destroy the research. Arthur and Lupin were both hesitant to execute the attack, they wanted to find a way to pull the muggles from the den.

So, Arthur insisted on knowing more about the banding magic before they struck and in the meantime he had been working with Shacklebolt and Fleur to create a safe place for any rescued victims to be contained. Fleur had been brewing wolfsbane and healing potions for the last few weeks to prepare and Bill had been assisting with the attack plan. Lupin had been providing input on the plan and expert advice on handling the werewolves and Nasir had been adding in his expertise where needed and collecting information.

During the explanation Hermione noticed that Nasir had remained silent, she’d yet to hear him speak at all – but she wasn’t fooled by his quiet disposition. The man was watching everyone closely, especially her, his eyes captured every motion and ever expression and he was consuming the information like a hungry shark. At one point, when Arthur was discussing a possible scenario for gaining an additional minute that could be used strictly for rescue, her eyes caught Nasir’s for a second and she felt a hollow emptiness pass between them. She knew the look in his eyes – it was the same one that she and Harry now carried. It was the cool indifference of someone who had seen death, accepted death and granted it. She knew without a doubt in her mind that Nasir knew _exactly_ what they were capable of, and exactly the sorts of things they’d been through. Though instead of finding is unnerving as she suspected many of the other Order members would have, she found it oddly comforting. This was percisely the type of man who might be able to help her. He’d seen things. Done things. He would _know_ things that others could never know. She was glad that Arthur had brought him.

“Hermione – with the bonds, if the bands are removed will the muggles return to a traditional werewolf cycle?” Arthur asked when the presentation of their plans and information had finally finished.

Hermione exhaled deeply. She knew where this was going, and it would not be an easy conversation.

“Yes, the band contains the stasis charm so once it is removed, if the subject is still alive they will no longer be forced to remain in werewolf form. Hypothetically – if you were too attack outside of the full moon and remove their bands, they would all revert back to human form. Though band removal while the subject is _alive_ is complicated,” Hermione met his eyes as she spoke, knowing he would not like what she told him. “But Arthur – the lingering effects from the banding will remain permanently.”

“What do you mean?” Shacklebolt’s brow creased in confusion.

“The stasis charm they created is unbalanced – it’s killing them. It’s why they die so quickly,” Hermione stated plainly. “Once you remove the bands no additional damage will occur, but the genetic abnormalities caused by wearing it for the duration that they had it on are irreversible. Even _if_ you free them it is unlikely that any of them will live much longer than a year – possibly four at the most. And that does not factor in the damage that will occur after each transformation they make. That damage has been minimized thus far as most of them have only transformed once.”

“so – are you suggesting that we leave them to die?” Lupin looked at her incredulously.

Hermione felt her heart harden, it was like she was disappointing him. He hadn’t seemed to be surprised that she was the one who had uncovered the truth about the banding magic. He wasn’t surprised that she was the one had discovered the stasis charm or the way they were created. But he seemed immensely unnerved by her demeanor, he had been from the second she walked into the room.

She’d known from the second after her outburst regarding her injuries that he might struggle to come to terms with her new harsh outlook on life. After all, she and Harry had just sat through a rather disturbing account of the werewolf facility operations and had not blinked. They’d been completely void of any reaction. Whereas Fleur had looked like she was going to be sick at a few moments and Bill had visibly frowned. Arthur was strained as he spoke, Lupin looked exhausted and weary and Shacklebolt was tense. The only other member of the room who seemed indifferent was Nasir – and Hermione got the distinct impression that Nasir was not _liked_ by most of the group. He was tolerated.

“I’m not _suggesting_ anything,” she said flatly, trying to keep her underlying agitation and unease at bay. “I’m simply telling you the facts. If you have the means to rescue them – by all means, go ahead. But be prepared to deal with the consequences. These people will die slow, painful deaths very similar to how a muggle would die from traditional cancer.”

“There is no way to repair the damage?” Arthur asked.

“Not that I am aware of,” she could see Arthur’s faint look of hope fizzle out. “Given enough time and research you might be able to find something to ease their pain but I do not think that you could truly repair the damage or give them a full life.”

“Your best bet is to focus your attention on saving those who have not yet been transformed, or those who have been _recently_ transformed – as they stand the best chance of survival,” Harry added as he took a sip of his coffee.

The room felt immensely tense as the table digested the information. She’d anticipated this – she knew that discussing the harsh reality of the banding magic would be difficult and that the truth would not be received well. In some ways she felt bad for them, for the Order, because they still allowed themselves to feel so much so easily. After what happened at the Manor, she’d become even more detached in situations that made her uncomfortable, and right now she was _very_ uncomfortable. Therefore, she felt even less than usual.

“How do we remove the bands?” Arthur asked quietly, after the table had been silent for a long while. He sounded a bit defeated, but Hermione admired the fact that he still refused to give up.

She knew that he wanted to save them all – he was a good man and had a brave heart. He just wanted to help, and he was willing to risk his life to do whatever he could. He was one of the most giving and selfless humans she had ever had the pleasure of knowing. Which was why she knew her next words would shatter him even more and so she found herself hesitating.

It hurt. It physical hurt her to do this to him – but she and Harry had already discussed it and agreed. She sighed outwardly and grabbed her coffee mug.

 _Time to let the past officially die_ , she thought. Knowing that her next remark would shatter any lingering image they had of her old optimistic, happy, naive self.

“I won’t tell you,” Hermione said it slowly as her eyes flicked between them and she lifted the white porcelain mug to her lips and took a sip.

The liquid in the cup sloshed gently as she held it and observed the wide-eyed expressions around her. They were without words. They had not been expecting that, but they were wrong in their assumption. She _wanted_ to help. She wasn’t denying them the information because she disagreed with a rescue attempt. She was not so cold as to condemn hundreds of innocent muggles to death – far from it. She and Harry had risked their lives to save Rose and she would do it all again, over and over no questions asked.

She would _not_ , however, condemn innocent muggles to live out a miserable life where they died slowly, in agony, in a world that they did not understand away from family and friends. Not after what they’d been through. Not after they’d been forced to kill other humans, forced to eat the sick and wounded, after they’d been raped, abused and beaten.

 _No_ , she thought firmly as she looked at them all with her jaw set tight. She would not tell them how to save them unless they agreed to her terms.

“Not unless you agree that you will kill the ones who ask for death after you’ve rescued them,” she spoke firmly.

“What?” Arthur’s voice was a surprised whisper.

“We will help you save as many as you can, we will help you rehabilitate them, heal them – whatever they need. But some of them will want to die – some of them will not be able to accept what happened to them. They won’t be able to deal with it,” Harry said quietly at her side.

“I’m sorry Arthur,” Hermione grimaced as she set down her cup and spilled some of the coffee. She was aware that the room had gone silent. “But you’ve seen the notes, _I’ve_ seen them in person. Some of them will ask you for mercy, they will want death over living alone in a world they do not understand while they die painfully and transform into a werewolf once a month – muggles do not heal like we do in between transformations so each time it becomes increasingly painful. So, you _must_ be prepared to grant them that mercy _if_ they want it or I will not help you. After everything these people have been through, I will not sentence them to another year or more of torment just so that we can feel better about ourselves and think that we’ve helped.”

“Hermione –“ Arthur looked like he’d made some realization that had broken his heart, but he was cut off by Lupin.

“And how do you propose we do that? Poison them in their sleep?” the greying man looked upset, but Hermione knew he understood it was the truth. He was just reacting.

Hermione looked at him plainly. “A quick and painless death would be preferable.”

“Hermione,” Arthur said sadly. “I’m not sure we can even agree to do that – it would illegal and considered as a crime against muggles, it would be treated as the murder of innocents.”

“Most things that happen in war are illegal,” Hermione said, and she gave him a tight look. “But it is the right thing to do Arthur.”

“Hermione, we understand where you’re coming from, truly we do but it’s not that simple – that is a huge ask to make of anyone,” Shacklebolt shook his head as he spoke and then turned to Harry. “Harry, surely you understand that asking someone to kill–”

“I’m in agreement with Hermione,” Harry stated firmly, cutting Shacklebolt off before he could even attempt a plea in his direction. “We’ve already discussed this at length – I will not help you _free_ people just so you can keep them contained somewhere else while they die a little slower. I understand where _you’re_ coming from Shacklebolt – it’s a hard situation, but that’s the reality of war.”

“Are you saying that you would kill them if they asked you to?” Lupin’s voice was quiet, and he was watching her carefully.

“Grant them a peaceful death rather than watch them suffer, or take their own lives in agony?” Hermione met his eyes with an even stare. “It would be the least that I could do after what they have been through. Yes, Lupin. I would.”

The room went quiet again and Hermione could practically hear everyone’s hearts thumping. She looked to Arthur, hoping that he would understand and then she saw it – he wasn’t angry, he wasn’t upset – he just looked at her steadily with a heartbroken expression _for_ her. And she knew.

 _He knows that I killed Rose_ , the thought echoed in her head as she continued to meet his eyes. He didn’t say a word, but she could feel his heart breaking on her behalf. He was devastated that she had taken that burden but yet he showed no judgement.

Then a voice she did not recognize spoke and her eyes flashed to Nasir.

“I will do it,” Nasir said calmly, his voice level and sure. “Shacklebolt you know just as well as everyone else at this table the many things that have been done as part of this war – if the problem is simply finding someone to do it, then consider that problem resolved.”

“Fine,” Shacklebolt said after a long paused and he rubbed his eyes wearily. Nasir had been right. They were unwilling to do it. None of them wanted to be responsible for taking an _innocent_ life and carrying the weight on their shoulders with them if they could help it. “You have my word Hermione – how do we remove the bands?”

“Kingsley, we’re not talking about killing Death Eaters we’re talking about killing innocent muggles,” Arthur said quietly, his expression was tight. “Surely once we have them, we can find a way to help them.”

“We’re not talking about slaughtering them Arthur – we’re talking about assisted dying,” Shacklebolt sighed and gave him a tired look. “No one will die unless they ask for it and even then, it will be a conversation to make sure that it is what they truly want.”

Arthur exhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was ultimately Shacklebolt’s call, so even though he struggled with it he would relent. “How do we remove the bands?”

Hermione spent the next forty-five minutes explaining how to remove the bands while the werewolves were still bonded to their owners. She pulled the ones that she kept in her black box out from her purse to use as an example and ignored the looks on the other Order member’s faces as she plunked four sets on to the table. She’d long since established that they posed no threat once dismantled so they were safe to handle.

Even Arthur raised a brow – he’d known about the one werewolf, but not the other. She carefully avoided explaining how the banding process itself worked, no one else needed to know that information. It was too dangerous. And instead she only told them how to remove the bands without killing the muggles. She suggested that for the ones they could save they be immediately stunned and bound as they would likely panic once they were free. Harry further suggested that the werewolves be stunned prior to removing the bands if at all possible so that they could transform back to human form in the safety of the protective location Arthur and Shacklebolt had arranged.

This resulted in Harry and Hermione explaining how to setup a tether. The odds of successfully stunning a werewolf was practically 0% hence the reason why she and Harry simply shredded them. Though a tether would work to keep them pinned momentarily so that the bands could be safely removed – it was something that would never work on a wizard werewolf but would on a muggle one. By the time the conversation was done Hermione had finished her second cup of coffee and Lupin looked a little more relaxed. Arthur looked happy that he could now free the victims and held a firm determination in his eyes. Hermione knew that he would not allow any of them to die or ask for death until he had at least tried to help them. For their sake’s, she hoped he was able to. They deserved another chance at life, if they wanted it. She was also pleased to see that Arthur and Lupin appeared to hold no resentment towards them after their disagreement on mercy killings. Though Lupin did still look at her with a concerned expression.

They agreed to meet again on Friday night so that Harry could show them how to create a shield charm, as it might save their lives when they entered the den. They discussed Hermione and Harry’s involvement in the infiltration, though Arthur seemed hesitant to let them come along. So, they agreed to reassess it on Friday after Hermione had reviewed her injuries with Nasir.

“Thank you, Hermione,” Arthur said quietly after taking a long sip from his fresh cup of coffee. “We would not have been able to figure this out without you – any of this. You’re going to save countless lives.”

“It was no trouble,” Hermione said as she placed the bands back in her black box. “Thank you for taking over the planning and putting in all of this effort. Harry and I would not have been able to abolish the den on our own.

“How did you come across four sets of bands?” Lupin asked casually, attempting to keep his face neutral but Hermione knew he was still curious about their activities.

“We had a few encounters with them,” she said nonchalantly. “I took the bands so that I could research them.”

“I see,” Lupin said slowly, and he swallowed. “I assume that was no easy feat.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she held his gaze and gave him a grim look. “But they’re a lot easier to remove when they’re dead. Arthur, did you have any other questions on the banding?”

“I think we have everything,” Arthur said as Shacklebolt started to pile up the papers on the table. “Perhaps you and Nasir can discuss your tremors while the rest of us go through the notes you took Bill?”

“Yes of course,” Bill said as he resorted the pages before him.

“’Ermione – you may use ze room just off ze living room – I ‘ave warded it as well,” Fleur nodded her head in the direction of the living room.

“Alright – thank you Fleur,” Hermione carefully removed herself from the table and Harry stood with her. There was no way she would allow herself to be alone with the tall mysterious stranger.

Nasir stood as well. His movements were swift and soundless, and he followed them toward the door at the end of the living room. Arthur’s eyes watched them go and Hermione could see his apprehension. Arthur did not trust Nasir, yet he allowed them to go without protest. She felt her skin prickle as she opened the door at the end of the living room and crossed the new wards into the small main floor bedroom.

Once the door was shut, she felt Harry cast three of his own wards and she turned to face Nasir.

(to be continued…)

-x-x-


	40. Chapter Forty (ft. Mr. Weasley)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I had a hard time deciding the order to proceed for the next few chapters, but I think I have it figured out. I did a condensed version of my original plan because I don’t have enough Mr. Weasley content for a standalone chapter (I didn’t want to rehash the werewolf plan development since we already covered it last time).  
> Anyways, here is you Hr&H chapter featuring Mr. Weasley. This one is a bit theory heavy I suppose… so I hope you enjoy!  
> 2\. Some of you will hate this... I'm sorry. Perhaps I am meaner than I thought.  
> 3\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> I love you <3
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

Arthur watched as Nasir followed Harry into the small main floor bedroom of the cottage and he felt his jaw tighten. He did not like the idea of leaving the two of them alone with _that_ man, but he didn’t have a choice. Regardless of whether or not he trusted him, Nasir was the _only_ person who might be able to help Hermione.

Besides, it was clear that both Hermione and Harry would be fine. Based on how the conversation this evening had gone, it was now plainly obvious that Hermione and Harry had changed. They were not the two young little adults that had left his house back in the summer. They were hardened, serious, detached, calculating and dangerous. He had already known that, or at least he thought that he had known it after he’d caught a glimpse of them on the snow-covered hill. Now he felt like that knowledge had been beaten into him much like being hit by a bludger multiple times – he felt exhausted. The truth was inescapable and now everyone else knew it too. Arguably, Hermione and Harry would have a better shot at handling Nasir, should he betray them, than he himself or any of the other Order members at the table would.

Yet that thought did not comfort him. It only made his heart ache deeper and a hollow sadness creep across his chest. He’d suspected that Hermione and Harry had killed the werewolf they’d delivered to him. But he could have never anticipated that they’d killed _two_ werewolves – not to mention the two corresponding bonded wizards that were paired with the beasts. The way she had dumped the bands on the table had rattled him: she’d laid them out calmly as if they were commonly found items, as if she had just picked them up from the store that morning. Though what really broke his heart was knowing that they had killed Rose – that _she_ had killed Rose.

He could see it in her empty eyes. He could feel it in his chest when he listened to her speak. She didn’t have to express anything on her face, in fact it was the empty indifference and lack of expression she had when speaking about death and killing that had made him realize it. She’d cast an unforgivable. Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age – kindhearted and gentle Hermione had cast the killing curse to grant that woman a peaceful death. It _had_ to have been the killing curse, he was certain for the body of the woman that Thomas had retrieved was undamaged aside from the werewolf injuries. It had been the way that she’d spoken about granting mercy that had turned the cog in his brain, and suddenly all the pieces fell together.

 _It’s too much_ , he thought as he forced himself to turn back toward his eldest son. _They shouldn’t have had to deal with this. They shouldn’t have been forced to make that decision._

They were too young. They were supposed to be at school – worrying about grades, Quidditch matches, who was dating whom and what they wanted to be when they grew up. Not running around the countryside escaping death at every corner. Not being tortured by a deranged mad woman. Not voluntarily taking the burden of killing an innocent just so they would not suffer.

Not this.

Not any of this. How would they ever come back to the world when this was all over – assuming there was a world to fit into they would never belong. He felt sick to his stomach as he swallowed and spread some pages out before him. Their lives were forever changed, they’d deserved better.

And it was _their_ fault.

It was the fault of the Order and every other adult witch or wizard who did not support _You Know Who_. They had not prepared enough. They had not listened or taken it as seriously as they should have. Everyone was exhausted and frightened from the last war and did not want to acknowledge that it might happen again. They’d buried their heads in the sand and tried to ignore the signs and now two kids, barely legal, were cleaning up their messes. Acting with more courage, responsibility, honour and dignity than anyone else he had met. They were realistic, logical and determined – and it put many to shame.

He himself could not even begin to imagine it, to wrap his head around what they had been through. Sure, this was his second war, but he’d never experienced the types of things that these two had – and he got the distinct feeling that he didn’t even know the half of it. He knew that they had been through even more, but that they would never speak of it. He knew it was carved into their hearts in the same way that it had been written into Alastor and Sirius and Severus. You could see it in their eyes.

These two were damaged – yet relentless and strong. What would he have done if someone had asked him for death? If someone asked him for mercy?

His stomach rolled at the thought. He wasn’t sure that he would have been able to do it. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand it, he knew why a person might request something like that – he just didn’t know if he had it in his heart to draw his wand and do it. He didn’t know if he could live with it. The conversation at the table had highlighted one of his fundamental flaws – his inability to lose hope or accept loss and defeat. He was determined to believe that he could save the ones that they rescued, and if he couldn’t – then he did not know what he would do.

One thing he knew for certain though, and it burned deep in his core like an eternal flame, was that regardless of his own issues with mercy killings – he would not give up on Hermione or Harry. He would not judge them, and he would not leave them alone in the world when the war came to its inevitable end. He would, always, stick by them and support them. He would help them, he would shelter them, he would talk to them about what happened and reengage their humanity and rehabilitate them back into the world. He would never abandon them. He would fight by their side until the very end and then be there to pick up the pieces – because it was the least that he could do, because they deserved better. The world owed them that much.

He took a deep breath and gave Lupin a sympathetic smile. The poor man looked distraught – he should have given him a better idea of what they were walking into, but then again how would he have even begun to explain it. He made a mental promise to have Lupin come by for tea afterwards so he could apologize and give some context to the situation. Then he asked Bill to go over the map of the den that Nasir had supplied to them once more and his eyes glanced to the closed bedroom door. He tried to ignore the anxious worry that was washing over his body as he thought back to his conversation with Nasir in the Northern Order safe house:

**March 13, 1998**

“They have how many werewolves?!” Mr. Weasley asked Nasir as he flipped through the pages before him in disbelief.

“Two hundred, as of tonight,” Nasir said again, his rich voice still calm and seemingly unfazed by the number. “That does not include the four muggles currently being held who have yet to be transformed. Given the number of ill werewolves in the pits and based on the research notes I was able to skim through this week – it seems that their army is growing steadily at approximately ten werewolves per week. This factors in the death rate of the older werewolves.”

Arthur stared at Nasir incredulously. The man was unbelievable. He spoke about the numbers, the condition of the werewolves and the way the muggles were being held as if he was telling someone about a pleasant day he’d spent gardening. There was _no_ emotion in his voice as he confirmed his count at _two hundred_ and once again, he seemed unaffected. It was disconcerting to say the least and Mr. Weasley was starting to hate it. It wasn’t like he wanted the Order to panic – but he thought it was appropriate to feel _something_ about the topic.

“Two hundred,” Mr. Weasley said in a flat monotonous voice.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Nasir answered him evenly.

Arthur stared at the man across from him and clenched his jaw. Lupin had yet to arrive, he’d sent a note saying that he would be late and Shacklebolt had dropped off Nasir (since Mr. Weasley refused to give Nasir apparition rights to the safe house) and then he had run to an emergency meeting at the office. He would be back within the next half an hour – so here Mr. Weasley sat alone with the mysterious man. Feeling irritated and unsettled. He felt his hand twitch against the table. Shacklebolt had told him not to pester Nasir. Shacklebolt had told him not to ask questions because Nasir would not answer them. He’d said to remain focused on the mission – which Mr. Weasley was, but every morning he’d met with the man over the last week and a half the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he couldn’t help but wonder who the hell the guy was.

Today was the first time they’d ever been alone together, and he knew he might never get another opportunity to speak to the man frankly.

“How long were you an Unspeakable?” the question came from Mr. Weasley’s mouth easier than any of the other words he’d ever spoken to Nasir up until this point. As now he was speaking from the heart and asking the things that he really wanted to know. “What did you do when you worked with them?”

Nasir remained motionless before him, eyeing him carefully. Quiet stretched between them and Mr. Weasley assumed that Nasir was not only not going to answer the question – but that he wasn’t going to speak at all and would instead wait until Shacklebolt returned. So, he almost flinched when Nasir opened his mouth and the low baritone response rolled out.

“I see that you still distrust me,” Nasir said smoothly, his eyes never leaving Mr. Weasley’s face. “Though I must ask you Arthur – why would you think that having me disclose my past would improve that? I suspect that sharing that information would only make you even more skeptical.”

Mr. Weasley frowned but continued to meet Nasir’s eyes, it wasn’t an answer but at least the man was talking.

“We are preparing to embark on a very dangerous mission Nasir,” Mr. Weasley said slowly, watching the indifferent man closely for any sign or signal, regardless of how small. “It will put people’s lives at risk. The Order cannot handle another loss after losing Albus and Severus. I know that Kingsley trusts you – so I apologize if my lack of trust is insulting or if my curiosity seems foolish to you. But I do not trust people who I do not _know_ – and we cannot afford to have you sabotage this mission or our members. I’m asking you, because I want to know _who_ you are, because I _want_ to be able to trust you – I want to know _why_ you’re here.”

“That’s reasonable,” Nasir spoke calmly. “I am not insulted by your remark – in fact I am somewhat surprised that it took you this long to bring it up.”

“Kingsley told me not to address it,” Mr. Weasley said stiffly.

“I see,” Nasir eyed him knowingly. “Did it occur to you, that he may have said that because I can’t tell you? That even if I did feel so inclined to tell you my life’s stories – that I am not able to?”

“What do you mean by _can’t_?” Mr. Weasley asked, his eyes narrowing. He had heard rumors of the Unspeakables being bound and or restrained from speaking but they were only rumors. Many people argued that Unspeakables _chose_ not to speak about their lives because that’s how dark they were. It had never been confirmed or denied by an actual Unspeakable whether or not they were literally incapable of talking.

Nasir watched him for a long moment and then, to Mr. Weasley’s disbelief, slowly reached up to the collar of his crisp white shirt and unbuttoned the top two buttons. His fingers moved deftly and once he’d split his collar open to reveal more tanned skin, he tilted his head back to the ceiling, craning and exposing his neck. Then he placed a long slender finger at the tip of the underside of his chin. Mr. Weasley felt his breath catch in his lungs as he watched the scene unfold before him, unsure of what was about to happen. Then Nasir slowly traced his finger down the length of his neck to the base of his throat and Mr. Weasley’s eyes widened.

There were runes marking his neck. A series of three that repeated themselves from the underside of his jaw all the way down to the junction of his neck and collarbone. Mr. Weasley did not recognize them – he had never studied the subject at Hogwarts nor done any reading on the topic, but they were dark black against his skin, they almost looked like tattoos except that Mr. Weasley knew in his gut that the markings had been _cut_ into the man’s skin. It was a _rune carving_ – an ancient and dark magic that had been discontinued over a hundred years ago. It was illegal, though these had undoubtably been carved to prevent him from speaking about certain things. He’d never seen anything like it – had this been done by the Ministry?

Nasir lowered his head back down, meeting Mr. Weasley’s eyes and taking in his shocked expression.

“Regardless of my personal opinion on the matter Arthur,” Nasir said slowly, the runes moving with his skin as he spoke. “I would not be able to tell you what you want to know even if I desired it. What I can tell you – is that I was an Unspeakable for a long time and that I did many things.”

Mr. Weasley stared at him silently, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t truly been expecting Nasir to respond to his request let alone show him the binding magic that was placed on an Unspeakable. He was caught off guard by the candid response and he could feel an unease sliding through his body as he watched the man before him and stared at the dark runes. They looked almost demonic, each stroke of each rune was aggressive and yet disciplined. He could feel his unease settle low and uncomfortably in his stomach as suddenly Nasir’s expression shifted – he couldn’t explain what had changed but the air in the room suddenly felt cold and tight.

“If I told you that I’d killed people – tortured them – massacred them. That I’d seen things that no one should have to see – that I’ve done things that no one should have to do – would that make you _feel_ better? Would you trust me more?” a low darkness had crept into Nasir’s eyes and it made Mr. Weasley’s blood run cold. “If your question is whether or not I am a _good_ person, _that_ I can answer – let me assure you – I am not. If your question is whether or not you can trust me – I can’t help you. I’ve already told you why I am here. I have already offered my services to this mission and will continue to do so until it is done. Whether you trust me or not is not my concern, nor do I care – that is up to you to decide.”

Mr. Weasley flinched as a loud pop rang out behind Nasir and his eyes darted to Shacklebolt who had returned from his meeting and was approaching the table and calling out a greeting. When his eyes darted back to Nasir the man’s runes were hidden, his collar was rebuttoned, his face was void of emotion and the darkness that had crept into his eyes was gone. Mr. Weasley swallowed.

He didn’t trust him.

Not at all. Not as a colleague or a friend. Not as a reliable Order member or even as a decent human being.

Yet he wasn’t sure he needed to trust him to complete this mission. Without a shadow of doubt in his mind Mr. Weasley knew that this man could obliterate them if he wanted to, but he hadn’t yet. So, either he was lying in wait and planning something big, or he wasn’t a threat – at least not to _this_ mission.

-x-x-

Hermione turned to face Nasir.

The man was tall – taller than Harry and even than Shacklebolt. His hair was dark like his eyes, his skin was tanned, and she had been unable to determine the accent to his voice. It sounded mixed – it was indistinguishable, and she wondered if that was on purpose. The man looked highly intelligent, keenly aware of his surroundings – perhaps he did not want anyone to know where he had originated from. That thought sparked a concern in her mind and she hesitated, her eyes flicking to Harry who stood two steps to her right before she carefully reached for Wormtail’s wand, ensuring that her movements were slow so as not to appear aggressive.

Nasir watched her hand move though he made no attempt to stop her as she drew the wand from her pocket. She suspected that had a lot to do with the fact that he would have no issues defending himself if there was an altercation. Though he did not appear arrogant or cocky – he just looked expressionless and calm, like the world could be burning before him and he wouldn’t react. She wasn’t exactly sure what to make of him.

“Nasir,” she said carefully, watching his face intently. “I appreciate your offer to assist me – truly, so I hope you will not be offended – but given the last few encounters we have had I’d like to cast a simple diagnostic spell on you to confirm that you are not using Polyjuice potion.”

“Of course,” Nasir spoke in a low even voice and kept his eyes on her face. Though he showed no real expression, something in his eyes hinted that he was more interested in the two of them than the meeting in the kitchen.

Hermione bit down her nerves and nodded then cast the simple diagnostic charm. It appeared above his right shoulder and she saw Harry glance at it as well. It was completely normal – so _normal_ that it was actually remarkable. The man was not under the effects of any potion whatsoever, his resting heart rate was insanely low, as were his stress levels and based on the information available she would not be able to even attempt a guess at his age. There were no telltale signs indicating anything. He was in perfect health, and in complete control of his body.

She hadn’t needed to cast the spell on any of the other Order members in the kitchen. Bill had explained to her and Harry how the wards on the cottage worked, they were tied to the magical signatures and the genetic makeup of a person – so it would be impossible for anyone other than the approved Order members to appear. Nasir wasn’t an approved Order member though; he had come side along with Shacklebolt – so he could have been anyone.

“Thank you,” Hermione flicked her finger and the diagnostic bubble vanished. Then she repocketed the wand.

“One can never be too careful,” Nasir said calmly, his rich voice filling the small warded room. “So, I understand that you have been suffering from _cruciatus_ tremors – though Arthur never mentioned anything about your shoulder.”

“I never mentioned it to him,” Hermione swallowed as the man’s eyes flicked down to her hanging left arm. At least they were getting right down to it and cutting the crap. She had no interest in dancing around the reason they were here, or having Nasir pretend that he cared or felt bad for her – it appeared that Nasir felt the same. She liked that.

“I see,” Nasir gave no opinion on the response and seemed to accept it. His eyes darted to Harry, looking him over before speaking once more. “You are uninjured.”

“Correct,” Harry said slowly, eyeing the man before them as he kept his hand firmly on Draco’s wand at his side. His other hand was holding Hermione’s purse. “I was lucky.”

“You were,” Nasir’s eyes flicked back to Hermione. “It is remarkable that you endured torture at the hands of Ms. Lestrange. If you would like to take a seat on the chair – I would ask that you grant me the same courtesy and allow me to cast a diagnostic spell on you.”

“Alright,” Hermione swallowed and moved to the left where Fleur had left a chair near a small table. She needed to remember to thank the woman for being so thoughtful – a chair was much more comfortable than sitting on the bed.

“Are the tremors better or worse today compared to the day that it happened?” Nasir asked as he followed her to the chair.

“Better,” Hermione said after she’d taken a seat and draped her left arm across her lap. Harry had followed their movements and come to stand just behind her chair, out of the way but still able to monitor everything. “They are worse today than yesterday though.”

“What did you do yesterday?”

“We trained.”

Nasir’s eyes flicked to her left arm and he raised a brow. “Despite your arm?”

“I tethered it to her side,” Harry supplied, watching as Nasir drew his own wand and stood before Hermione.

“Good,” Nasir’s eyes flicked to him briefly before returning to Hermione. “You will need to do that for the next week at least to avoid causing any further damage.”

“So you can fix my arm?” Hermione hated the fact that her voice sounded hopeful, but at least her face remained emotionless.

“Maybe,” Nasir gave her a long quiet look then raised his wand and cast a wordless spell.

The charm that appeared above her was one she had never seen before. There was one large bubble floating and two smaller ones circling it. They displayed an immense amount of colours and signals and Hermione didn’t know how to read them at all. She would need to ask him if he would be willing to teach it to her on Friday – right now she did not want to interrupt his treatment process.

“How many times?” Nasir asked as his eyes skimmed over the data.

“I don’t know,” Hermione knew that he was talking about the _cruciatus_ curse, but she honestly couldn’t answer it. They all blended together.

“Six,” Harry said quietly from behind her, she could hear the hollowness to his voice. “Six times, then it went quiet and started again.”

“It was the dagger after that,” Hermione said, keeping her chin up and her eyes on Nasir’s face, he was still reading the charm above her head.

“You should be dead,” he said simply, his eyes leaving the charm to return to her face. Though now he was looking at her carefully. “Your heart would have failed you.”

“It almost did,” Hermione said truthfully. “But Narcissa gave me something.”

“What?”

“A potion – it tasted almost like Pepperup but it wasn’t.”

“What were the effects to the potion?”

“It felt like I was kicked in the fucking chest,” Hermione thought back to the intense feelings of the potion. “It kept me awake, it made my heart beat steady and hard, it cleared my head – it forced my body to work even though I knew it shouldn’t be. It was like a shot of adrenaline, but worse, I felt like I – like someone had drugged me.”

“I see.”

“What was it? You know what it was don’t you?” Hermione said as she watched him. She could tell. The tone of his voice had shifted a hair when he’d spoken.

“It doesn’t have a name, but it is rare and expensive,” Nasir said watching her face. “It forced your body to continue functioning and bought you time while the pain subsided. It has minor healing properties and it kept you alive – without a doubt it is the only reason you are here today.”

Hermione frowned. “Why would she have given it to me then.”

“Perhaps to keep you alive so they could torture you further,” Nasir said evenly, indifferent to the idea. “It is not uncommon to do such a thing.”

“So what can you do about the tremors?” Harry asked.

“The tremors are a result of lingering nerve damage that occurs on a cellular level,” Nasir answered as he pulled three glass vials from the inside of his robes. They were all black and the potion inside looked extremely fluid. “Dittany, which I assume you used to treat the physical wounds, does nothing to resolve cellular nerve damage. These, however, should repair the damage.”

“What are they?” Hermione asked as she eyed the potion. “I’ve never read anything about a nerve repairing potion.”

“Unsurprising, since there is only one man alive who can brew it,” Nasir stated indifferently. He handed two vials to Harry and then uncorked the third and handed it to Hermione. “Drink this, then drink the second two days from now and the third two days from the second.”

“Who brewed this?” Hermione took the vial from him, resting it on her leg to avoid spilling any from her tremors. “And what’s in it? Why is this not documented anywhere? Why doesn’t St. Mungo’s have this in their possession?”

Nasir looked at her for a long quiet moment before responding. “Because this is experimental – in a sense – though I assure you that it works. It was created within the last decade and as I have no doubt you are aware Hermione, textbook revisions and potion approvals take decades to accomplish.”

This was true and Hermione knew it. Sadly, it was unlikely that a potion this valuable had been shared with anyone – but even if it had it would not be released to the public for many years. There was a reason why the potions textbook that Harry had borrowed from the school in sixth year, despite being old and battered, was still the same one that she had purchased that summer. They released new editions every few years just so that students could buy new copies and spend more money. The content was the same though – the text had not changed in the last twenty years.

She clenched her jaw and grimaced, dropping her eyes to the vial of black liquid she held in her shaky hand. She wanted to take it. She wanted to believe this man. She wanted it to work. Yet drinking an unknown potion was dangerous. It was reckless, and she did not want to make a critical life-threatening error because she was desperate to be healed.

“Who brewed this?” Hermione asked again, her eyes darting back to Nasir.

“Does that matter?” Nasir asked her, arching a brow. “I assure you the individual is extremely gifted in the field.”

“Why did you agree to help?” Hermione asked quietly her eyes narrowing into slits as she looked at him. “Why should I trust you?”

Nasir watched her carefully, his eyes circling her face. Then slowly, his eyes never leaving her face, he stepped towards her and bent at the waist, leaning down just a foot away from her face.

“You shouldn’t,” he said in a low voice, his eyes were locked on her intently. “You have no reason to, and I encourage you to continue to be skeptical of everyone until the very end.”

Hermione tensed. His eyes were like black pools of death and in the back of her mind she knew she should be afraid of him. She should be very afraid. This man was no hero, she doubted that he was a good man in any shape of the meaning, he wasn’t here to save the day and make her feel better. He exuded hollow empty death and he moved and watched like a predator. He was something that any sane witch or wizard should be terrified of, and yet – she couldn’t help but trust him. He was dark, convoluted, mysterious and dangerous, yes – but if he’d wanted her dead they’d already be dueling. He may not be a hero, but he was indeed choosing to help her in this moment. That much she was sure of. Even still, caution never hurt anyone.

“Harry get the bezoar from the bag,” Hermione murmured, not taking her eyes off Nasir. “If something happens – kill him first, then stuff it down my throat.”

“Got it,” Harry said after he’d wordless summoned the stone from the bag. He didn’t raise his wand – he wouldn’t need it if he was going to attack.

“Good choice,” Nasir said as he slowly returned to his full height. Hermione thought she saw a glint of amusement in his eyes as his lips twitched a fraction.

 _Apparently, he can emote – when he wants to_ , she thought as she raised the vial to her lips with her shaking hand. Though it was odd he was allowing them to see it. She downed the contents in one swallow and fought back the urge to hiss in pain. It was ice cold. She could feel it travel down her throat into the pit of her stomach and radiate out from her core. She focused her eyes on his face – waiting to see if she would die.

Nothing happened.

A cold numbness lingered over her body but otherwise she felt fine. Normal. Alive. Still shaky.

“How long does it take to work?” Harry asked behind her. He’d waited to put the bezoar back in the bag until he was sure she wasn’t poisoned, and she saw him place the two remaining vials in their medical kit.

“Twenty-four hours,” Nasir replied, looking to Harry as he spoke. “I gave you enough to treat the tremors based on the stats today – tomorrow around this time you will notice that they have subsided. Two days after the final dosage your tremors should be gone and the nerves will be repaired to within ten percent of their original condition, so pending on how well your body responds it is possible that you will still experience very minor tremors when you are exhausted or gravely injured. I warn you – this is no miracle cure. There are only so many times that you can repair the damage of the _cruciatus_ curse and eventually nerve repair will be impossible. So – if you can manage it, avoid being on the receiving end again as your damage was already rather extensive.”

“I plan to,” Hermione said as she handed the empty vial back to him. “So, what do you know about cursed deep tissue damage?”

“Enough,” Nasir said without further explanation as he pocketed the empty vial. “Do you have the dagger?”

“Yes, I’ll get it,” Harry said, summoning her black box from the bag and opening it for Nasir.

She sat quietly on the chair, leaning against the back as she watched Nasir examine the dagger. The man prodded it with his wand and cast several wordless spells on it. As he worked Harry came to stand directly beside her and she leaned against him. She was exhausted. It had been an incredibly long day already and her terrible sleep the night before was making her fade faster than usual – but she wouldn’t stop yet. Not when Nasir was here and could help them.

Finally, Nasir placed the dagger back in the black box on the bed and turned back toward them.

“So?” Hermione said as she straightened in her seat. “Can you do anything?”

“Possibly,” Nasir said slowly, moving to stand before her once again. “The dagger was cursed to imitate the effects of the _cruciatus_ curse – causing extreme pain upon use and resulting in similar lasting damage to nerves and tissues. Some of this damage will be healed by the potion you just took. However, I suspect that the reason why you cannot move your arm is a bit different. May I see the wound?”

Hermione hesitated. She didn’t exactly feel like removing her shirt in front of a stranger though given the placement it was a bit difficult to do anything but. Standing carefully from her chair she removed her new black jacket, sliding it down her limp arm carefully, taking Wormtail’s wand from the pocket and handing it to Harry. He took it and placed it on the bed next to the black box and purse and turned back to meet her gaze with a supportive nod. She pointed her wand at her shirt and transfigured it into a thin strapped tank top, then she sat back down and looked at Nasir.

She could see his eyes flick across her chest to her shoulder and down her arm, taking in the sight of her multiple scars with no reaction whatsoever. He made no comment and simply moved a step forward. He vanished the left strap of her bra and tank top and conjured a chair at her side.

“May I touch your arm and shoulder?” Nasir asked her. He maintained his distance from her and waited for her response.

“Yes,” her voice sounded hoarser than it had a moment ago but she couldn’t tell if it was because her body was beginning to fail her once more from exhaustion or if she was just anxious about what was to come.

Without hesitating Nasir sat down in his conjured chair, reached forward and picked up her left arm. He inspected the word that was engraved along her forearm with no emotion and then moved himself closer to touch the skin of the scar on her shoulder. She was a bit surprised that his hands were so warm, they were also soft and they moved and traced along her skin delicately. She eyed him from the corner of her gaze, unable to look away from his blank face as he examined her. She wasn’t used to anyone but Harry touching her unless they were hurting her, yet Nasir was handling her very carefully. It felt weird and made a larger tremor shoot down her spine. Initially she had to fight her instincts to pull away and remind herself that she was okay – that Harry was there, and that he would never allow anything to happen to her.

She heard Nasir murmur a spell, but she couldn’t make out what it was. He slid his fingers over her shoulder to her collarbone, poking gently as he went until he draped her limp left arm across her lap once more. Then he placed his left thumb on her shoulder wound, his fingers stretching out across her sternum, and he placed his right hand on the back of her shoulder in a similar fashion. He murmured another spell and Hermione felt a warm heat deep within the center of her shoulder.

“Can you feel that?” Nasir asked as he kept a steady pressure against her skin and his eyes moved back to her face.

“Yes,” Hermione nodded.

“What does it feel like?”

“A warm heat.”

“Good – let me know if it fades,” Nasir slid his hands along her shoulder, one on the back and one of the front, working them toward her arm.

The heat continued to radiate from inside her body between his two hands as he worked his way across her shoulder and then began tracing down her arm. He drew her arm away from her body again as he worked and rested it across his knee so it would not fall from his grasp. When he reached her palm, he moved his hands along each one of her fingers – but the heat never faded. Hermione felt the tiny warmth the entire time as she watched his movements. She could feel Harry watching as intently as she was and she knew that he was probably feeling just as confused. She had no idea what it meant but Nasir had said _‘good’_ – so she assumed that the heat must be a good thing.

It had to be.

When he finished tracing her pinky finger he stopped and moved his eyes back to hers. “Did it not fade?”

“No,” Hermione swallowed, she needed to stifle the hope that was building in her chest. “It felt warm the whole time – between your hands.”

“Was it more or less warm in any spots?”

Hermione thought carefully before she answered. It was critical that she give the best information possible. “It got warmer as you moved down my arm – it was the least warm in my shoulder, particularly over the scar.”

“I see,” Nasir moved her arm back to her lap, straightened and then stood from his chair.

“What does that mean?” Hermione asked, watching in confusion as Nasir stepped away toward the bed and removed his outer robes. He laid them across the beautiful quilt next to her jacket. He was wearing a crisp white dress shirt under his robes and he started to roll up the sleeves. He worked them up over his elbows, revealing tanned forearms covered with thin silver scars. Hermione felt the anger and desperate panic that she harbored toward her arm start to burst from the deep hole she’d tried to bury it in. She could hear it leeching into her voice as she spoke her next words and she felt Harry place a warm hand on her right shoulder. “Is heat a good thing? What does it mean – can you do anything?”

“I can,” Nasir still had not looked back to her. He had fastened both sleeves above his elbows and had started to pull several things from the pockets of his robes. She watched him fish out another vial of potion, a piece of paper, a strange looking pen – and her heart faltered in her chest when he pulled out a small silver knife with a black handle.

“What are you doing?” the words came from her mouth before she could stop herself, her eyes had latched onto the dagger when he drew it out and she felt fear race through her heart.

“Nothing that you don’t want me to,” Nasir said evenly, finally turning back to look at her. He left the items on the bed on top of his robes and turned to face them fully. “The heat was good – it means that fundamentally the nerves and tendons in your arm are still alive and working. Yet they do not work because they have been severed from your brain and sealed. The dittany you used did heal the tissue – but it didn’t reconnect anything severed in the shoulder because of the curse on the dagger. Think of it like cutting a vein – the curse cause the dittany to cauterize each end of the cut tissue, so your nerves and several tendons are fragmented.

I won’t lie to you Hermione as I see no point in trying to downplay the severity of this injury – it is astounding that they are still salvageable. Normally they would have died by now from the curse. I suspect the potion you were given has something to do with their extended longevity despite them being completely severed – but if you ever want to regain any usage of your arm you need to make that decision now. The tissue is already starting to die, beginning in the most injured areas – that’s why the warmth was less in your shoulder. The damage has already started. So, I will ask you this once and only once – do you want me to repair your arm or not?”

Hermione stared at him, her heart was thundering in her chest and her head was swimming as she tried to process the information. “How long until it fully dies?”

“I would give it less than twenty-four hours at this point.”

Hermione nodded robotically, her logical brain taking full charge of her body. “And what do you need to do to repair it?”

“Trim the ends of each piece of severed tissue, reconnect them, then heal them. It will be painful and in order to do this you will need to accept a rune – contained to your shoulder and left arm so that I can counter the curse to make the repairs permanent. Otherwise the same thing will happen again.”

Hermione swallowed. She’d read about rune carving – it was obviously never covered in class, but she had found it mentioned in an old book she’d grabbed from the used bookstore in Diagon alley. Then she’d gotten a pass from her professor so she could research it in the restricted section. It was old magic. Ancient. Dangerous. The recipient had to be fully willing to accept the rune and its consequences or it would cause irreparable damage to their body. Witches and wizards had stopped the practice well over a hundred years ago because it was seen as barbaric, cruel and dark. It was said to leave a scar on your soul – like a tarnish that could never be removed because as with anything else in life, nothing came for free. It was a balanced trade just like the bonding magic, just like arithmancy, potions, transfiguration laws – magic may be magic but in its own twisted way it made sense. You used the runes to accomplish a task, or to gain something back, or to aid you in some way and as a result you marred your soul.

Some books had said that accepting a rune would damn you entirely – though much like her thoughts on the killing curse she suspected that was over blown. Obviously, the rune did _something_ to you – but ancient witches and wizards had used them and continued living for many years so it couldn’t have been that bad. Though then again – she had no idea what happened after you died, perhaps payment was not due until later. Perhaps she would not know the full consequences of this decision until it was too late to understand it. Her eyes flicked to her limp left arm and she felt her stomach knot. She could just cut it off. Nasir had just confirmed that the limb would lose its functionality in its entirety within a day – that it would never heal on its own and it would never be repairable in the future. It had already begun, so if she did not accept his help now, she may as well get rid of the thing and start learning to live without it. She could still feel Harry’s hand on her shoulder, he had gone completely still.

_Harry._

How could she help Harry with one arm? Well – she could and she would, but it would never be to the same capacity or effectiveness that she’d been able to do in the past. She and Harry had spoken the other day about trying to learn how to channel magic through their opposite hand, a rare feat that only two documented wizards had completed. They’d wanted to learn how to cast multiple attacks at the same time – they’d wanted to continue to push the boundaries and grow. And if anything ever happened to her right arm – well then she was fresh out of upper limbs. They still had an incredibly difficult journey ahead of them, one where she had no idea what was to come, and she needed to be prepared. She needed to be as functional and strong as humanly possible. She _needed_ that arm. She could not risk another injury that left her fully magically incapacitated.

Hermione closed her eyes and felt a well of anger, hatred, determination and fear wash through her. It wasn’t a choice – it had never been a choice because she’d made her decision months ago. She’d sworn that she would do _anything_ to help Harry. Anything to save him. Anything to win this war and protect people like Rose. To protect the innocent. She’d swore that she would give up every inch of herself to do what was _necessary_ and that she would deal with the consequences later. Despite the empty sickness she’d felt in her gut when Nasir’s words registered in her brain she’d already known what her decision was.

“Alright,” she whispered opening her eyes and returning them to Nasir.

“Alright what?” Nasir arched a brow at her, clearly looking for a response that could not be misinterpreted.

“Alright let’s do this,” Hermione said more firmly, holding his gaze and feeling the fire burning within her. “Fix my arm.”

“What happens if you accept a rune?” Harry spoke from beside her; she’d known he hadn’t gotten this far in his research on the topic and she could feel his grip on her good shoulder tighten.

Nasir did not respond, he simply cocked his head a fraction in her direct and waited for her to answer.

“It’s a trade Harry,” Hermione said quietly, keeping her eyes on Nasir. She wouldn’t lie to Harry, not after everything they had been through. She would not damage their trust, but she also would not allow him to make this decision for her. “You need to be fully willing to accept the rune and the consequences or it will cause irreparable damage.”

“What are the consequences?” his voice was low, and she knew that he was looking at her.

“That has been argued for centuries,” Hermione said, taking a breath and finally turning to look at Harry. “Regardless though I’ve made up my mind.”

“What are the consequences, Hermione,” Harry was looking at her intently and she could see something simmering behind his eyes.

“They say that it scars your soul – though what that means has been heavily debated throughout history. Some say you’ve condemned yourself after death, others say it is little more than a tarnish that just wears heavy on your heart and makes you lose a small piece of your humanity,” she watched Harry’s face as she spoke. “I’m much more inclined to believe the latter – given what they said about the killing curse. I fail to see how this is much different.”

“Hermione –“

“It’s my decision Harry, and I’ve made it.”

Harry looked at her with a pained and tight expression. “Do _not_ do this for me. We can manage without your arm – I’m not going to lose you because of a fucking arm.”

His slow words made a pain ache across her chest. “I’m doing it because it is necessary – what would happen if I was injured and lost this arm too? Harry – the war has hardly even started yet. Think of everything left we need to do. We _need_ every advantage we can get – I’m not changing my mind on this. This isn’t about me or you, it’s about everyone else – it’s about securing a win, and I will do whatever I need to to make that happen.”

Harry frowned and she could see him clench his jaw. Then he turned to Nasir. “Have you seen the effects of rune carvings?”

“Yes,” Nasir said quietly after eyeing him for second.

“What happened?” Harry was staring at the man so hard he was almost glaring.

“Well that depends,” Nasir said slowly.

“On what?” Hermione could hear the tightness in Harry’s voice. He was angry. Not at her, not even at Nasir, just at the situation that they’d found themselves in and he had no patience for riddled responses.

“On whether or not they were willing,” Nasir was standing impossibly still. “Those who were not did not make it. Those who were continued on with life until they were either killed by some other means or met their ends naturally.”

“Does it tarnish your soul or are you condemned?” Harry pressed, not satisfied with the response.

“Harry it doesn’t matter I’ve already decided,” Hermione felt the anger in her voice as she spoke. She was growing irritated. She didn’t want to witness a pissing contest between Nasir, a stranger who seemed indifferent to everything, and Harry who was growing angry because he wanted answers that likely no one could give him. She wanted her arm fixed. She wanted it done _now_ so that she could close this chapter on her life.

“It would be impossible to comment on eternal damnation – given that one needs to die to confirm it,” Nasir said flatly, and Harry’s eye twitched. His grip on Draco’s wand tightened.

Hermione tensed as the air in the room became impossibly tight. Harry looked like he was about ready to murder the guy. Nasir was watching Harry closely, his back stiff and seemingly prepared for attack – though his eyes were fixated unblinkingly on Harry’s. It looked like Nasir was searching him, like he was trying to understand something, like he was calculating and putting the pieces together. Just when Hermione thought she could not take the tension anymore Nasir let out a long low breath and relaxed his shoulders. The motion caught both her and Harry off guard and she felt her eyes crease in confusion as she watched the man before them take an almost relaxed stance, crossing his arms over his chest before he spoke.

“The tarnish description is much more accurate based on what I know,” Nasir said quietly, his eyes flicking between the two of them. “It’s something you can feel in the back of your mind. Something that weighs heavy within you and you will be required to carry that around for the rest of your life. It is a burden – but contrary to popular belief and folklore receiving a single rune does not make one an _evil_ being. It just adds a sliver of emptiness to your heart – so they affect everyone differently depending on the person.

If you hardly have any humanity left, then yes, a rune would be an extraordinarily heavy burden to bear and could theoretically result in you losing your ability to be compassionate. I would personally argue that it only taints you as much as you allow it too, that it is deeply dependent on intent and acceptance of the recipient – and that it is indeed very similar to the killing curse. The greatest risk with rune carving is not what happens after – it’s that you must truly accept it as it is carved. If you are not sincere when I carve it, I cannot tell you what will happen.”

Silence rang through the room and Hermione saw Harry’s shoulders relax.

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly before he turned to face Hermione. He crouched down beside her and took her hand. He was looking at her with the same pained expression on his face as before though now he looked a little less angry. “Are you sure Hermione – because if you have even a shred of doubt in your mind – I will cut the arm off for you right now and we will train without it and figure this out. I don’t want to risk losing you because of your arm. It’s not worth it.”

He paused and gritted his teeth. “I know this is your decision and I _know_ that I wouldn’t be able to stop you even if I wanted to – but we can manage without your arm Hermione. We can make this work.”

“Harry,” Hermione said softly. She leaned her head down and dropped her forehead against his and whispered. “If I thought even for a second that I wasn’t sure about it, I would _not_ do this. I’m not leaving you. Ever. We’re in this together – always, until the very end. I’m positive Harry – trust me – I need you with me on this.”

“I do trust you,” Harry murmured back, his grip on her hand tightening. “I do.”

“Okay,” Hermione breathed out against him and closed her eyes, pressing her forehead into him harder before she leaned back and looked up to Nasir. He was watching them with his usual blank expression, but Hermione did not miss the way that his eyes flicked curiously between them. “Let’s do this.”

“Alright – I will let the others know they may as well start another round of coffee – as I expect this will take some time,” Nasir said as he moved to the door. “Harry do you mind removing your wards?”

“Sure,” Harry didn’t move or take his eyes off Hermione but she felt the wards lower and Nasir stepped out of the room for a moment, leaving them alone in the quiet. “Hermione – you don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Hermione swallowed and leaned down, pressing her lips against his and breathing him in. “I want to – it will work Harry. I can’t explain it – I just know it will.”

This was it. This was her shot – her one chance at getting back to normal and giving an official ‘ _fuck you’_ to Bellatrix. She could beat it. She could beat that fucking bitch’s blade and all of the torture she had endured – if she could endure just a little bit more she could be free of everything that riddled her body. She could become something more.

She kissed Harry deeply and wound her hand through his. She could hear her heart thumping in her ears as the voices from the kitchen trickled in the room. Her pulse started to race. Suddenly she felt like time was slipping through her fingers. Her arm was dying – if she did not do something now, she would lose it forever. She would never have this chance again. Harry’s hand on hers tightened and his opposite came to cup the side of her face. She pressed into him further as the pain in her chest ached harder. She could hear Nasir approaching the room.

She knew Harry was scared; she knew he was dreading the worst – that he did not want her to take this risk. That he would rather accept her as she was and her gimpy arm over risk losing her. He would never be able to fully support this decision because it wasn’t worth it to him. It wasn’t even on the table for him. Yet despite knowing how he felt about it she knew that she needed to do this. She needed her arm for the war and regardless of her fear, she needed to conquer what had happened – she wanted to destroy any last remnants of Malfoy Manor from her body. Something deep down inside her was pushing her towards it. Like her own soul was bizarrely begging her to do it – begging her to tarnish herself so she could be free of it.

She heard the door to the room open and pulled away from Harry. Nasir had closed the door behind him, and Hermione felt a collection of unfamiliar wards surround them. When he turned back to them, he was holding a cup of coffee and a bottle of fire whiskey. Her pulse quickened once more.

Nasir handed the coffee to Harry once he’d stood up. Harry accepted it tentatively and then Nasir opened the bottle of firewhisky in his hands and passed it to her.

“Are the others okay to wait?” Harry’s voice sounded to her right as she stared at the bottle.

“Shacklebolt may need to leave, but Arthur and Remus will stick around.”

“What’s this for?” she heard the words leave her mouth as her eyes darted back to the tall strange man.

“I can’t give you any potions for the pain,” Nasir said as he picked up the paper and pen. “It will interfere with the rune carving – but the liquor will help.”

“Oh,” Hermione eyed the bottle. She’d never had anything to drink besides butterbeer and she was fairly sure that didn’t count. She had no idea how much to drink – so she started to calculate the alcohol percentage based on her body weight.

Nasir must have seen her hesitate because his voice rang out once more. “Two large gulps should suffice – it burns, so the quicker the better.”

Nasir had placed the paper on the small table and was writing out a series of runes on it. Hermione recognized them but she did not know what he was doing. She brought the bottle to her mouth and took two large gulps.

 _Merlin’s fucking balls!_ She coughed and felt her eyes watering. It burned. The heat traced down her throat and into the pit of her stomach. She could feel it radiating out through her body and it made her shudder.

Suddenly time felt like it was speeding up, everything was starting to happen all at once.

Nasir had picked up his dagger, he was wrapping the rune covered paper around it. Then he sandwiched it between both hands before him a foot away from his chest. Hermione heard him utter something that sounded like an ancient dialect and then the paper between his hands caught fire. “Harry – transfigure that chair so that you can sit behind Hermione – you will need to hold her still.”

Harry’s face tightened into a tight grim line but he nodded, downing the coffee in one gulp before he did as instructed. Hermione felt herself stand from the chair so he could adjust it. The liquor was burning through her and it made her sway slightly on her feet. She felt like she was out of body and watching herself move. Harry changed the chair and took a seat – guiding her to sit between his legs. Her body moved on its own and suddenly his arms were wrapped firmly around her. Her eyes slid slowly back to Nasir watching as he moved his conjured chair before her once more and sat down, his dagger glowing bright red in his hands.

“Place your feet on hers as well,” Nasir commented as he moved closer to them. “If she kicks it could go poorly.”

Her head was growing fuzzier – the alcohol was hitting her harder because she was already exhausted and shaky. Her blood ran hot and she felt sweat begin to form across her body. It was a mildly pleasant feeling, though it made her uneasy. She wasn’t in control – she could tell, and if not for Harry being pasted behind her body, she wouldn’t have been able to do this.

“This will be the worst part,” Nasir said. He’d pulled his chair so close he was only a foot away from her face. He had moved her left arm to rest over Harry’s leg. He had leaned forward and was looking directly into her eyes as he spoke. “It will burn and ache – but you must not fight it. That’s a form of rejection. There isn’t an easy way to explain this – but you need to allow it to hurt and accept it, let it happen, let your body do what it needs to and Harry will keep you in place until it passes.”

“How long until it passes?” Harry asked from behind her.

The heat was growing warmer, her eyes were hazy, her mind felt heavy.

“One minute, you need to keep her as still as you can, place your arm across her forehead and hold her tightly.”

Hermione felt Harry’s hand across her forehead and allowed him to tip her head back against his chest.

“Clear your head. Know that you want this – I’ll count back from five,” Nasir continued to speak only to her.

He brought his wand to her shoulder and murmured more words she did not understand. Her eyes flicked down to her arm and she saw a trail of symbols wrapping themselves over her shoulder and under the arm in a misshapen circle – it encompassed the shoulder wound and created what she assumed was a barrier to the rest of her body. She took a deep breath and forced the panic out of her mind, smothering the fear she felt towards Nasir’s burning red dagger.

She wanted this. She needed this. She knew that she did. She would take it – she would take anything if it meant having a solid chance at protecting Harry. She would accept it. Whole heartedly.

“Five.”

She felt Harry’s grip on her tighten.

“Four.”

Nasir leaned in placing his left hand flat against her sternum and pressing her even harder into Harry’s chest.

“Three.”

Hermione breathed in and focused her mind on Harry’s warmth. She loved him. More than anything.

“Two.”

Nasir adjusted his hold on the dagger in his right hand and brought it towards her. She breathed out and closed her eyes, allowing her body to go limp and relaxed in Harry’s hold.

“One.”

Hermione smiled.

This was what she wanted after all.

(to be continued...)

-x-x-

LOL, member when I said that this fic would be 15 to 30 chapters max? How young and naïve I was then…

Thank you for joining me on this journey <3

Also, out of curiosity, what is your go-to snack to eat while you work/write/read/study? I need snacko recommendations!

EDIT UPDATE:

I figure if you have made it this far you're probably in it for the long haul. I started a discord in later chapters, come join us if you want to:

https://discord.gg/h yC2 bw (remove spaces)


	41. Chapter Forty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Well we are still at Shell Cottage and Hermione is getting her arm looked at… guess we see how that goes! It has been interesting to read your feedback on Nasir – I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the comments you guys have been leaving. Thank you :)  
> This chapter starts with a taste of his POV and I’m curious as to know this chapter might change your impression.  
> 2\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.  
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

Her screams cut through the air like a knife and her body thrashed violently. Though it was nothing in comparison to what he’d heard before – nothing compared to the sounds he’d made people make in the past. It was easy to ignore. It quickly became a dull ringing in the back of his mind as he focused his attention on the task before him. Yet he knew surely the rest of the inhabitants within the cottage would be feeling uneasy. It was impossible to ward against the sounds produced from a rune carving. The magic was too old, too dark, too complicated – it resonated from your soul. It could not be contained. It could be dampened, which he’d done by placing wards on the room – but some of the screams would echo throughout the small cottage. After asking Fleur for the firewhisky he’d told Arthur not to allow anyone inside the room regardless of what they heard – not like they would be able to enter even if they tried. He’d made sure that was impossible.

The girl’s back arched violently and he pressed his hand harder against her chest. It was a good thing that Harry was strong, otherwise this would have been very difficult to do. He’d done rune carvings in the past without assistance and most of them had not gone well – though then again, at those times it had not mattered. He hadn’t been intending to help those individuals. For this situation though, the additional hands were ideal, and he’d already finished carving one line.

It wouldn’t take long now. The rune was simple, the placement was easy. He continued to ignore the sounds that poured from her mouth and sliced his burning red dagger through her skin a second time. Cutting a deep straight line through her flesh to the left of her wound, closer to the center of her chest and inside the barrier marking he’d made. Blood spilled from the cut flesh and dripped down her chest as the dagger slid easily through her tissue. It felt very similar to slicing into butter with a hot knife and the ease of it was partly what made rune carving so difficult. It was required to be precise. Each line must be perfect, each angle exact, each cut specific in length to ensure that the rune was correct – otherwise the rune would not work. It was easy to cut too deep, too long, too angry – it was easy to do wrong because it was so easy to make the cuts.

He finished his second line and prepared for the third and final laceration. The second his blade touched her skin her legs vibrated against the seat of the chair so hard the entire thing shook. The muscles in her neck bulged and her right arm clawed as she fought to break it away from Harry’s hold. Sweat poured from her body as tears rolled uncontrollably from the corner of her eyes.

She was doing well.

She wasn’t resisting the pain. He could tell – it was in the scream. If it came from the throat the entire ritual was doomed to fail and he might as well have killed her then and there to spare her from a slow and painful death. But if it came from deep within, from the receiver’s soul – it meant it was working, it meant they had accepted it. And that was where her scream came from. He could feel it. So could the boy – it was the unnatural sound of it. It had made Harry’s eyes widen with fear while sweat began to pour from his brow. It unsettled people. It wasn’t often that you got to hear someone’s _soul_ scream audibly in agony. It was a different sort of pain that most humans did not understand.

He finished the final line then sent the dagger to the desk as he continued to hold her firmly against Harry, palm flat against her sternum. He set a mental timer for one minute, knowing that until then her fractured screams and jerking movements would only get worse as the lines on her chest grew dark and burned themselves into her skin. Blood continued to pour from the lines and it seeped over his fingers as she thrashed. Her leg jerked so violently it broke free of Harry’s hold and he had to grab it to stop her from breaking free. He gripped her thigh tightly, not taking his eyes off the lines as they started to hiss and the blood that poured from her began to turn black. Harry struggled to hold her as her back arched. He stood from his chair and pressed her chest harder into him, leaning his full weight against her sternum and her thigh as the lines became darker and the hissing grew with her screams.

 _Fifteen seconds_.

She broke two of Harry’s fingers.

_Thirteen seconds._

She scratched lines down his forearms before Harry was able to regain control of her arm.

_Ten seconds._

Her head broke Harry’s nose.

 _Six seconds_.

He had to stomp on her opposite foot, breaking four of her toes, to keep it in place when she’d managed to break it free from Harry’s leg.

_Three seconds._

Her chest was covered in black and red and the lines on her chest glowed impossibly dark.

_Zero._

Her body went completely still and unmoving.

“Hermione?!” it was Harry who spoke, and the boy was staring at the girl in terror.

A low slow ragged inhale filled the room and he removed his boot from the girl’s foot, carefully removing his hands from her body and lowering himself back into a seated position.

“Let go of her head,” he told Harry, reaching forward to grab her face gently and turn it towards him. “Hermione – can you hear me?”

“Yes,” the word sounded like it’d come from the dead.

“Open your eyes,” he watched her face intently as her eyes slowly opened. They were bleary and red but they were in focus.

“Is it over?” she asked him quietly, her voice hoarse as her eyes latched to his. She looked more vulnerable now. She almost looked like she trusted him.

_Which would be foolish – at least for now._

“The rune carving is over yes – I still need to heal your shoulder. Though that will hardly be anything in comparison,” he told her honestly. If she could manage this, then the healing would be nothing.

“I didn’t die,” she smiled. It wasn’t a question, it seemed like a statement. Then she called for the boy behind her. “Harry?”

“Hermione,” Harry’s voice sounded broken and he immediately changed his grip on the girl to an embrace as he buried his face into her neck and held her. “ _Fuck_ I’m so glad – fucking Merlin – are you okay? Can you move? Are you alright?”

“I’m alright,” her voice was like broken glass but the relief on her face was evident.

He sat there silently and watched their exchange. It was evident that they loved each other very much – he did not need to be a skilled legilimens to know that. It was written all over their faces and detailed across their bodies in the way that they interacted and reacted – they orbited each other like planets. They were purely devoted in a way he had never seen before. He understood the concept theoretically, but he would never be able to truly grasp it.

He watched them interact. They were abnormally skilled given their age – yet it was not just from talent. The marks that covered the girl’s body and the heavy weight that sat on the boy’s shoulders were a testament to that. These two had fought. Harder than most. Yet their determination seemed unshaken, which was irregular – given their cold-hearted detachment. As if they were fragmented pieces of whatever they were before.

 ** _He_** was right.

They were _fascinating_.

It was the only reason why he had agreed to consider helping. Shacklebolt had asked him to come assess two members of the Order – he’d agreed, but at the time he’d had no intention of actually _doing_ anything after the assessment. It would have been simple to say he could do nothing to help. No one would have even questioned it. The know-how for healing this sort of injury was lost generations ago.

Yet the request **_He_** made had been alluring – it had been desperate and urgent. Though the description **_He’d_** given of these two had not done them justice. They’re remarkable and it would be both terrifying and fascinating for the world to watch what would happen to them, to see just how far they could push things. Just how _much_ they could grow. It wasn’t until he’d entered this room that he’d made up his mind and decided to help them.

“Did it take?” Harry was looking at him and asking a question.

“Yes,” he answered calmly, picking his wand up from the floor where it had fallen during the struggle. He charmed his hands clean of her blood then pointed his wand unnecessarily at the girl’s chest and vanished the red and black blood – leaving only the single black rune against her skin. The barrier had faded into her flesh once the rune carving was completed and would leave no visible mark.

_Hagalaz._

It would remain permanent. It could not be covered by simple glamours. He could teach her how to hide it – perhaps. He hadn’t decided on that yet.

“Are you sure?” it was the boy who spoke again. It was a stupid question, but Harry did not know that.

“Her arm has neither turned black nor has she died – yes I’m sure,” he replied indifferently as he leaned forward once more. It was time to finish the work. He had other things that he wanted to do tonight, and he suspected that Arthur and Remus might be clawing on the other side of the door. He returned his eyes to the girl’s. “That was the worst part – now I need to make a few small incisions to heal the severed nerves and tendons. Though these cuts will not be laced with magic like the ones I made with the blade so it will only hurt as bad as what the injury itself is. Hermione, are you ready?”

Hermione nodded firmly and leaned back into her partner easily, closing her eyes with a shuddered breath. Harry held her tightly once more and whispered gently in her ear. He summoned the bright orange potion from the bed, uncorked it, placed it on the table to his right next to the now silver dagger. He summoned a bottle of dittany from his robes next, opening it and leaving it on the desk, then raised his wand and cast his diagnostic charm so it floated above her left shoulder. Using a precise _diffindo_ he made several carefully placed incisions along her shoulder scar. He guided the orange potion from the bottle into the wound with his wand. Then healed each cut with dittany.

The process was slow, he needed to be careful and ensure that he cut and reattached the correct things. The charm aided him there and he doubled checked every connection before he finalized it. He continued to hold her steady against the boy with his left hand against her sternum though impressively, she did not fight against him – nor did she scream. Her body tensed each time he cut, sweat poured from her, her heart raced, and her jaw clenched – but she did not cry out.

 _Indeed, fascinating_.

It took several minutes for the potion to work and heal the tissue before he could continue to the next cut. Slowly undoing the damage done by the cursed blade. After half an hour had passed she had become oddly calm, her heartbeat had lowered and her eyes were closed lightly like she’d fallen into some kind of meditative state. He’d noticed that the boy was murmuring in her ear and holding her right hand, tracing his thumb along her skin. When he finally finished the shoulder he broke her from her quiet.

“Your shoulder is done,” he said. He spoke in a low voice and watched her face closely, making sure that he had her full attention before he continued. “I will not make any repairs to the remainder of your arm as I do not believe it will add any value. I cannot remove the scarring caused by the dagger Ms. Lestrange used; I can only repair the severed tissues. The marks made on your arm only cut the skin and surface nerves, it did not sever any valuable tissue or muscle so the damage is minimal. You just won’t be able to feel very much along your forearm over the letters. Though it will not impact the use of your arm.”

He picked up her limp left arm gently and traced the pads of his fingers over her skin and across the red angry letters.

“Do you feel that?”

“Not really,” her voice was hoarse and broken, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and liquor but she met his gaze with full awareness. “I can only feel it on certain spots.”

“That is how it will remain – are you okay with that?”

“That’s fine,” she blinked heavily. The alcohol was still coursing through her and her words slurred a little. “I don’t care about that – will my arm work?”

“It will – though it will always be a little stiff and you will always have less feeling in it, particularly in the shoulder. Do not use it at all for the next three days – Harry you will need to tether it to her side the entire three days and tether her to the bed so she doesn’t roll onto it.”

The boy nodded.

“After the three days, you can start to use it – limitedly. You need to ensure that the connections have finalized and that you don’t tear apart the repairs. If you want to train, tether it in place. After a week you can start to use it like normal – though I warn you it will be weak and you will need to work on it.”

He replaced her limp arm across her lap and vanished the fresh blood from her body, then cleaned his own hands. He made to move his hands away from her body but she caught his wrist with her right hand. His eyes darted down to the contact and then back to her eyes.

“Thank you,” she smiled at him.

 _A genuine smile after that? Yes – they really are quite fascinating_.

Perhaps he would help them.

_Maybe._

-x-x-

Hermione held his warm wrist tightly, her eyes locked to his face in wait. He was staring at her strangely, though maybe that was just the blur from her tipsy and pain addled mind. She could not be sure. Then finally, after an extended quiet moment, he spoke.

“You’re welcome,” he said flatly. She released her hold on his arm and he returned his hands to his thighs. She watched them move and noticed the red blood that covered his forearm and the stained rolled up sleeves of his white shirt.

“You’re bleeding,” her bleary eyes darted back to his face and then she turned to look at Harry for the first time. Biting back a groan of pain as she twisted. “You’re both bleeding – did – did I do that?”

“It’s typical for rune carvings,” Nasir said evenly. “If you would like Harry – I can fix your nose and fingers.”

“Thank you,” Harry sounded exhausted behind her and Hermione felt herself grimace.

“I’m sorry,” she slurred again, her eyes darting between the two of them. She could feel the exhaustion spreading over her body like a heavy wave and she suddenly felt like someone had placed a large rock on her shoulders.

“Hermione – _no_ – don’t be sorry, please,” Harry sounded in pain as he spoke. “It’s okay, it’s hardly anything. Here, sit here and we’ll clean everything up okay, then you can sleep.”

She nodded and shifted so Harry could untangle himself from behind her to stand. She leaned back against the chair and watched as Nasir easily healed Harry’s fingers and nose and vanished the blood from his lip. She must have broken her toes at some point – because Nasir gently slipped off her boot and sock then she felt her toes snap sharply back into place before he redressed her foot. Her eyes flicked between the two men as they moved in an odd quiet comfort around each other: Harry packing up their stuff and transfiguring her shirt back into a sweater, while Nasir packed up his stuff, then healed the claws marks on his arms with his dittany before rolling the sleeves of his shirt back down.

 _I wonder if that’s where the other marks came from,_ the thought echoed loosely in her head as she continued to stare at the tall tanned man’s arms.

How many rune carvings had he done? How many people had he saved? Or how many had he condemned? She’d seen the thin silver marks, and after seeing the fresh ones she’d left it was impossible to ignore their similarities. Claw marks. All of them. People scratching against him in agony – though whether just from runes or something else was impossible to say.

Hermione felt her entire body slouch as she listened to the instructions Harry got from Nasir on how much sleep she needed. It sounded like Nasir had asked Fleur to prepare more dreamless sleep potion and the woman had some ready for them in the kitchen for the night. It also sounded like much of her next 24 hours would be spent unconscious – which if she was being honest, she was very okay with. Her body felt heavy, her muscles were in agony and a deep pain radiated from her shoulder. She could feel a weight on her chest and she began to wonder if this was what Nasir had been talking about. If this was what she would need to carry around with her for the rest of her life.

Her eyes shifted down to her limp left arm and slowly, she raised her shaking right hand to the collar of her blood-stained shirt and pulled it down. Harry had transfigured her tank back to her sweater before she’d gotten a look at the handiwork, but she could see it now, even from the upside-down angle.

 _Hagalaz_.

Black as night across her skin next to the bundle of thin red lines and large red mark that made up her shoulder scar. She could feel two sets of eyes on her, but she ignored them. She knew Harry was probably concerned and Nasir was probably just watching like he always seemed to. But she was fine. It looked fine. She felt fine. Heavy. Tired. In pain. She snorted and smiled – knowing that the two men were staring at her even more closely now.

 _When is that not the case?_ She thought amusedly as she looked at the mark on her chest. It was far more attractive looking than her other scars and frankly, it seemed like a small price to pay for the regaining the use of her arm. _All_ of it had felt like a small price to pay. Sure, it had been agony – it’d been worse than the bloody cursed dagger Bellatrix had used. She’d felt it carved into her in a way that she could not explain. Yet as Nasir had said – she did not feel _evil_ , she did not suddenly have no compassion. It was just a weight. Another brick in her bag to lug around. She could see how having too many of them would become unbearable – but as of right now this single one felt okay. In fact, oddly, it felt right. Like a warm heavy weight over her heart.

She removed her fingers from her collar and let her blood stained sweater spring back into place, rolling her head back against the chair to look at the two men before her. They were watching her quietly as she’d expected, and Harry did indeed look concerned. She smiled at them both with bleary eyes, snorted again and her smile split wider.

“It looks cool,” she slurred in her rough voice as a small laugh came from her lips. She felt in a daze, she didn’t even know how long they’d been in this room. “Fuck I’m tired.”

Harry’s eye twitched and he almost looked like he might cry as he held her jacket tightly in his hands. He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.

“It does look cool – very cool – fuck Hermione,” he closed the distance between them and kissed her, pulling away to rest his forehead against hers. “Let’s get you to bed okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered softly, still grinning at him.

-x-x-

She knew she was tired, and she’d suspected that she might be a bit tipsy from the liquor when she was sitting in the chair. But when Harry helped her stand and tethered her arm to her side she realized that she might very well be drunk. She had no basis of course, but she was keenly aware of the fact that her legs were not just shaking from pain, they were wobbly and unsteady and the heated numbness continued to course through her limbs. Or maybe this was the aftereffects of the rune carving?

She had no clue. All she knew was that for the first time since the dreaded incident at Malfoy Manor, and despite the pain, she felt optimistic, and she was so excited to go to sleep. Dreamless sleep potion or not she did not care. She’d drink it all – she’d take whatever Harry gave her if it meant going to bed curled up next to his side and snuggled into his warmth. He’d cast a warming charm on her in place of her jacket and wrapped his arm around her waist to support her as he asked Nasir about occlumency. Yet shockingly, despite the wobble, she fared well on her feet and was able to walk mostly on her own. She only half paid attention to the conversation as they moved toward the door and made their way out into the living room.

The second the door opened she heard voices come to a halt and her hazy eyes lifted to see Bill, Arthur and Lupin standing in the kitchen with tight expressions on their faces. They looked like they’d frozen mid-pace and their eyes had immediately locked on to her, then darted to Nasir who stood at her left.

“Hermione?” Arthur’s face looked anguished as he stepped forward. His eyes were latched to her desperately.

“Hey Arthur,” she smiled at him, watching as an expression very similar to the one Harry had given her washed over the man’s face. She saw Bill’s shoulders relax and relief flood his eyes, though Lupin still seemed tense and was gripping a paper tightly in his hands.

“Merlin – I thought – we thought – I didn’t,” Arthur didn’t seem to be able to form a coherent sentence and he had threaded his hand tightly through his thinning hair.

“I’m okay Arthur,” Hermione said softly. She removed her hand from Harry’s waist to stand on her own as if to prove a point.

She knew their eyes were darting between the blood on her sweater and the blood on Nasir’s white shirt. Though none of them seemed to know what to do with themselves. They’d obviously heard her – or heard part of it. They’d obviously been concerned and itching to know what had happened – some of them probably even wanted to kill Nasir – though now that the door was open and the three of them had emerged together while Harry had been talking to Nasir calmly it had completely thrown them. She was standing less than a foot away from the mysterious man and was very clearly not upset. Exhausted, ragged, probably looking as bad as the day she’d first arrived – but she’d smiled, she was clearly tipsy and they didn’t know how to react to her. She almost felt bad for them.

Arthur looked at her for a long moment and then closed the distance between them, cutting across the living room and wrapping his arms around her firmly and pulling her to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered near her ear as he held her, she felt Harry drop his hold on her waist as Arthur held her and she all but flopped into his arms. “I’m so sorry – for everything, you shouldn’t have had to – I know you – I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all of this alone. But you two are not alone. I promise you that – you two are never alone – never again – we’re here for you. I’m here for you – anything you need. You both deserved more than this.”

She awkwardly patted his back with her right hand, thankful for the liquor that seemed to dull her reactive nerves a bit. Today was the most she’d been touched by people other than Harry and it still made her heart race with panic. At least her reactions were delayed and she wasn’t flinching aggressively or flinging hexes.

“It’s okay Arthur,” she murmured in her thick and rough voice. “I promise, I’m okay.”

Arthur pulled away from her and nodded. He was biting his lip and looked like he wanted to explode with a million words, but he was fighting to keep them all in. Then he turned to look at Nasir, his eyes cautious and wary.

“Did you – were you able to help?” Arthur asked, flicking his eyes between the three of them.

“Potentially,” Nasir said at the same moment that Harry and Hermione both said ‘ _Yes’_. “We’ll know more in a few days.”

“Thank you,” Arthur nodded to the man before he carefully stepped away from Hermione.

“Hermione needs to rest,” Harry said gently, stepping toward the eldest red head. “Would you be able to get Fleur for the Dreamless sleep potion?”

“Oh – yes right,” Arthur made his way back to the kitchen to get the bottle that Bill had grabbed from the table. “I also have that care package for you Harry and some useful things I’ve put together.”

“Where is Fleur?” Hermione asked, after assuring Harry that she was fine standing on her own and that he should go speak to Arthur about the care package.

She knew Harry was hesitant to move much more than a foot away from her, she knew he just wanted to bring her back to their tent to sleep – but she wanted him to get the stuff from Arthur. With the way life was they never knew what could change overnight and god forbid her only remaining father figure died before they saw him again. Arthur was here now so Harry could speak to him now – she could sleep later. She’d be sleeping for twenty hours from the snippets of conversation that she’d heard between Harry and Nasir so she failed to see how waiting another five minutes would matter. She ignored the tiredness that was growing heavy in her limbs.

“She’s with the others,” Bill said giving her a small smile.

“Ahh I see,” she nodded, knowing that what he really meant was Fleur was likely upstairs containing Ron and Luna in their rooms and not allowing them to leave. “Please thank her for me – for the chair, and everything else, I might not remember tomorrow.”

“I will,” Bill nodded, returning his eyes to the table and clearing up the papers that had been abandoned when her screams filled the small cottage.

Harry stood several feet in front of her and spoke quickly with Arthur. He was telling Harry what was inside the care kit and identifying all the potions so they knew what was there – it sounded like he’d brought _a lot_ of stuff for them. She felt her lip twitch, Arthur was such a good man. Hermione’s eyes felt heavy as she stood there, swaying slightly on her feet as she watched the two men before her. She was so tired, but this was important, so she needed to push through it. Her chest was growing heavier. Though the dull ache in her shoulder had started to subside some. She blinked.

Her eyes opened slowly, and she felt something warm against her side. Her head was leaning on someone, but it wasn’t Harry. Her eyes shifted slowly to her left and she saw Nasir’s tall frame come into view. His hand was resting gently on her back and he was propping her up on her feet.

“You fell asleep,” he said low enough for only her to hear.

Harry was still talking to Arthur before her, Bill was preoccupied with the table and only Lupin seemed to be aware that she was leaning on the strange man and doing absolutely nothing to remove herself from his side. His face was laced with an immensely concerned expression. She realized that she must have fallen asleep when her eyes closed and would have fallen over if not for Nasir stepping to her side. Based on the conversation between Harry and Arthur only a few seconds had passed. She forced her eyes wider and traced them down the tall man’s frame to his now covered forearms.

“Are all of those marks from conducting rune carvings?” Hermione whispered quietly, aware that Lupin was still watching them.

“Not all of them,” Nasir’s low voice replied. She was surprised that he’d answered at all let alone answered so quickly.

“You have runes,” she said it like a statement though he seemed to sense that she was seeking confirmation. She didn’t truly care, at least not from the perspective of judgement. It didn’t matter to her who he was or if he was covered in them, she was asking because she was curious – and maybe that was why he answered her.

“Yes.”

“More than one?”

“Yes.”

“Do they grow heavier?”

“Only if you let them.”

She remained silent at his side for a moment then asked the one thing that she truly did want to know. “Can you come early on Friday – and teach us?”

He was silent for several seconds before his low voice responded. “What do you want to learn?”

“Anything you’re willing to teach me,” she whispered, tilting her head up to look at his expressionless face. He was staring down at her quietly, his eyes roving over her face before they locked on to her eyes.

She stared unblinkingly into the black inky pools. Unafraid and completely calm. She should have been. She knew this. Yet she wasn’t and she could not explain why.

“I’ll be here at noon,” his low rich voice rumbled.

-x-x-

Hermione did not remember much of what happened Wednesday night after Nasir agreed to come early on Friday to teach her and Harry. She recalled Harry carrying her outside, transfiguring her clothes into something comfortable, choking down Dreamless sleep potion and then there was nothing but black and warmth. She had absolutely no memory of Thursday whatsoever. In fact, she got the distinct impression that she’d slept through it entirely and did not wake up until 3am Friday morning. At which time Harry made her eat, she showered, then she drank another small gulp of potion and passed back out until 9am.

When she woke, she’d been confused, she hadn’t been able to move at all since Harry had tethered her to the bed and it had taken her a moment to come to her senses. When she did, and finally pulled herself from their small bunk she froze, then raised her right hand before her and felt her breath hitch.

It wasn’t shaking.

She could feel the dull tremor in her body, she knew it was still there underneath – but it was hardly visible at all. She’d hugged Harry tightly and felt tears slip from her eyes as she showed him. Even if the remaining potions did nothing – this was already a significant improvement over anything she could have ever anticipated. This was _functional_.

This she could live with.

With this dull tremble, she would be able to hit her target nine out of ten times. She beamed at Harry and kissed him heatedly, curling her fingers into his hair and letting him lay her back on the bed carefully, ensuring she was on her back and no pressure was on her arm. She felt alive as she cast a ward over the tent and ran her tongue over Harry’s teeth and pulled him close to her.

His mouth moved over her skin as if he was trying to consume her and was releasing all the pent up tension he’d undoubtably been carrying since he’d held her thrashing body on Wednesday night. She hadn’t been able to _talk_ to him yet about what had happened since she’d been unconscious for the last two nights but they could do that later. Right now she let herself get lost under his touch as she kissed his jaw and traced her lips down his neck, reaching for his jeans and undoing the button. She didn’t even care that her left arm didn’t work. She didn’t care that it was pinned so tightly to her side it made the entire left top quarter of her body immobile. She kissed Harry deeply and pulled him against her.

He carefully slipped off her pajama bottoms and eased himself into her. Her head flopped back against the pillow as she groaned and rocked her hips against his, reveling in the feel of his hard member sliding in and out of her slick channel. It felt right, it was where she belonged – in Harry’s arms, at his side, with him. Together. His lips traced down her neck and he panted against her.

“Fuck Hermione,” he groaned as he pushed into her deeper. “I love you, I love you so much.”

“I love you Harry,” she whispered in his ear as her breath came in shorter quicker pants.

He moved against her carefully, wary of her arm, but his motions still quickened and soon he was grunting above her as he came and she was curling her fingernails into his shoulder as she fell apart beneath him. It had been quick and careful; yet it had been exactly what she needed. The weight on her chest somehow felt a bit lighter as she laid there on her back and ran her fingers through his hair – kissing him lazily.

Nasir had been right – it only got worse if you let it.

“Nasir arranged with Arthur to come at noon today,” Harry said quietly as he stroked the side of her cheek. “I assume you must have asked him to come?”

“Yeah – I’m surprised he agreed,” Hermione kissed him again, tracing her fingers over his bare skin.

“Arthur was shocked,” Harry laughed lightly and gave her a grin. His eyes were tracing over her face like it was the first time he’d seen her in years. She imagined it must have something to do with the fact that he’d been left alone for the entire previous day, probably watching over her silent and unmoving figure. “I’m glad you asked him – I’d talked to him about occlumency for sleeping and he said it was possible. Maybe he can show us today.”

“I hope so – I hate taking that dreamless sleep potion,” Hermione crinkled her nose at the thought.

“I know but you’re still stuck with it for the next few days,” Harry brushed his lips over her temple. “I’m sorry I left you standing there – I shouldn’t have been talking to Arthur like that I–“

“Harry,” Hermione cut him off and looked at him firmly. “With how life has been going – for all we know we might not get the chance to see him again – you needed to talk with him, I was fine.”

“Hermione you fell asleep standing up,” Harry arched a brow at her.

“Yeah and I was fine,” Hermione arched her own brow. “I was just tired after everything – but I _was_ okay.”

Harry snorted. “I think you rightly startled everyone in that room by falling asleep on Nasir – I think they’re all terrified of him.”

“Mmhmm,” Hermione laughed. So she had completely passed out standing up. “Are you?”

“No,” Harry said after a pause. “Though I feel like I should be. There’s something about him that’s –“

“Unnatural,” Hermione supplied when Harry had struggled to find the word.

“Exactly.”

“I know,” Hermione nodded. “I can’t even describe what it is – he just, something is off, almost like he feels less human.”

“I know what you mean,” Harry was staring at her thoughtfully. “It’s like he completely lacks the ability to _feel_ – but I’m not sure if it’s by choice or if it’s just how he is. I don’t know – either way though, for now we’ll learn what we can from him.”

Hermione nodded in agreement.

“Want to shower and grab some food? He’ll be here in two hours,” Harry asked her as he traced her cheekbone with his thumb.

“Yes – I’m starving.”

-x-x-

They showered, dressed and ate. Hermione scarfing down three times as much food as she normally would have before she finally felt full – all while assuring Harry that the weight on her soul was not unbearable. It was the truth. It was there, sitting on her chest like a stone but it was not as heavy as she would have thought it would be.

Unsure of what it was exactly that Nasir would be teaching them today she’d decided to layer – wearing a black tank top, with a looser light cream sweater over top and picking out her flexible worn blue jeans. Harry had found a way to split her clothes and refasten them so he didn’t have to untether her arm and she’d found it quite impressive when he’d showed it to her. Harry had gone for a similar approach with his own outfit and donned a black T-shirt, grey sweater and jeans. They left the tent at 11:50, following their standard: ‘ _be safe not sorry approach_ ’ and packing up their tent. They headed up toward the cottage wands in hand just before noon and waited a few feet from the door.

“’Ermione!” Fleur’s voice cut through the air as she burst from the cottage, forcing herself to slow as she approached them. “I am so ‘appy to see zat you are okay! You look so well rested – Arthur said zat he will be here in a moment. ‘Ow are you feeling?”

“I’m well Fleur,” Hermione gave the girl and small smile. “Thank you for everything you did the other night – for warding the room, the chair, the firewhisky – all of it. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure ‘Ermione,” Fleur smiled at her. “’Arry – I told Mr. Ollivander and Griphook zat you wish to speak with zem zis weekend as you asked – zey said zat zey would be more than ‘appy to ‘elp.”

“Thanks Fleur,” Harry nodded to her.

A small crack echoed across the beach as Arthur and Nasir appeared on the sand to their left. Hermione turned to face them and watched as the tall mysterious man walked towards them.

“Harry, Hermione!” Arthur smiled at them though it was clear he seemed uneasy about bringing Nasir back to meet them. She had no idea what Harry or Nasir had said to him, so she didn’t know if he had any idea what was going on. “How are you feeling Hermione?”

“Great,” Hermione answered honestly. “I’ve only been awake for three hours but so far I feel really good.”

“That’s great,” Arthur grinned at them, his eyes flicking between the two of them. Nasir stood by his side and said nothing, only giving them both a small nod which she and Harry returned. “The others will be here at 7 again to finish the planning – Fleur you said you needed some help with potions?”

“Yes zat would be wonderful,” she girl smiled again before turning back to the cottage. “’Ermione – ‘Arry, if you need anything just come in and ask yes?”

“We will, thanks Fleur,” Harry said as she headed inside.

Arthur seemed to hesitate to leave them with Nasir once more. Hermione knew that he had taken the day off and would likely be spying on them from the cottage windows – but she didn’t mind. It was sort of sweet in a way. She understood his cautious hesitation and if anything she thought he was reacting to the dark haired man far more appropriately than she and Harry were.

“Right,” Arthur said awkwardly, looking between the three of them. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He followed Fleur inside through the open door.

“Did you not wake until 9am this morning?” Nasir asked Hermione, once Arthur had disappeared inside.

“No, I woke at – what time was it Harry?”

“Three.”

“I woke at three this morning, ate, showered, drank a bunch of water and had a small dose of dreamless sleep then went back to bed until 9am,” Hermione said, watching Nasir’s face for any expression.

“Good,” Nasir nodded to Harry, knowing that he was the one to care for her the last two days. “Have the tremors lessened?”

“Yes,” Hermione held her right hand out and only the slightest of vibrations was visible.

“Good,” Nasir said after eyeing it for a moment. “Any pain?”

“There is a dull ache deep inside my shoulder but it is hardly noticeable,” Hermione answered.

“And the weight?”

“Bearable – it’s not that heavy.”

“Excellent,” Nasir said evenly, his eyes flicking down to where the rune was hidden under her sweater. “Has the colour or the shape of the rune changed?”

“No – it’s still black, still the same.”

“Good,” Nasir nodded once. “Then all that is left to do is wait and see what happens.”

Hermione couldn’t stop the nervous smile that tugged at her lips at his words. She was okay – the process had gone well. Nasir had confirmed that nothing bad had happened and now it was just a matter of time to see if she could move her arm on Sunday morning. It made her heart flutter to think that she might be whole again soon. She might be fully functional. She might beat this.

“So what’s first?” Hermione asked swallowing down her excitement and trying not to allow her hopes to get too carried away.

“The diagnostic charm that you seemed so fascinated by,” Nasir’s rich voice rumbled as he turned and began moving away from the cottage.

Hermione and Harry followed obediently behind him, cutting across two small sand hills so that they were a few hundred feet away from the cottage. It would keep their voices from being audible though they were still visible. She suspected that this was intentional as Arthur would likely bust out of the cottage if they disappeared from view. It was clear that Nasir was completely aware of the distrust that surrounded him. Yet he’d oddly agreed to come anyways. She and Harry had not been able to wrap their heads around that one but for now they would ignore it and absorb the information he was willing to share with them.

They spent the next hour learning how to cast and read the diagnostic charm. Nasir was a good teacher. He was quiet, reserved, his voice never rising above a steady volume and he answered all their questions. Never commenting if he thought they were stupid. He was both completely impartial and passive and yet willing to tell them precisely what they had done wrong and how to fix it – though it was always spoken indifferently. It was never insulting or rude – it was strictly factual.

It turned out that the large diagnostic bubble showed heath stats just like the charm that she and Harry already knew. The only difference was that it showed about ten times a much information including blood sugar levels, iron levels, blood count levels, allergies, heart diagnostics and digestion stats. The first small bubble showed a complete history of the health of the cells in your body – so for skin cells it could show up to the last 30 days of data depending on how old the cells were. Red blood cells up to the last 120 days of data and it even showed cardiomyocytes. Which was how Nasir knew she should have been dead after her torture. The second small bubble showed the lingering effects of potions on the body. How long those would show up was potion dependent but regardless – this charm was highly complicated, and Hermione had ended up taking notes part way through to ensure that she would remember how to read it.

Next Nasir showed them how to use occlumency to section off pieces of their minds so that they could sleep without night terrors, it involved a small latin spell that was murmured precisely at the moment when you’d gained full control of your mind and sorted your memories into two piles. The first pile was memories you wanted to be able to recall, the second pile was the ones that you didn’t want access to. Once cast, the block of memories would be warded and inaccessible – thus impossible to access during REM. The caster would know that they had bad memories locked away, they just wouldn’t know what they were. Nasir noted however – that this was only to be done before sleeping and was to be immediately dispelled upon waking. There was a reason why the spell was considered dark and was not taught – it did no damage directly, but if left in place it would fracture your mind and you would go insane. Many witches and wizards in the past had been tempted to leave the block in place as it allowed them to live happily without their worst memories or terrors – it had gone incredibly poorly.

“I encourage you to only lock away the memories which you cannot bear, the ones that would make you kill someone in your sleep – the others, regardless of how terrible, are to be left in place,” Nasir said evenly after explaining the concept. “Bad dreams and deadly night terrors are not the same thing. Respect your mind and allow it to experience your life.”

Practice had involved a lot of sitting quietly, eyes closed, while they regulated their breathing and cleared their minds. Then they worked to extract only the more unbearable memories and placed them in a neat pile. Then they attempted to cast the spell. This grew complicated as some memories were embedded in others and popped up in multiple places. For example: Hermione’s memory of being tortured showed up in many places. There was the original memory, the night terror, then all the times she’d thought about it since.

Harry managed to implement the ward successfully by 3pm. Hermione did not manage it until 4pm – and even then, she’d missed a memory of her memory. Sweat had been pouring down her neck and back as she sat on the sand hill, her eyes closed tightly in concentration as the sun beat down on her neck. When she’d finally done it, she’d felt like she was a hundred degrees and she’d split her sweater and thrown it to the ground in triumph. Letting out a loud groan and dropping back into the cool sand.

“Did you get them all?” Nasir asked her. He’d stood there practically motionless the entire time that she and Harry had sat in the sand before him concentrating. He’d only spoken when they asked him something but otherwise, he’d only observed their efforts indifferently.

“No,” she breathed out hard and pushed her sweaty hair from her face. “But I got most of them, and I did it – so I know what I need to do now and I’ll keep practicing until I get it. More than anything though – it just made me realize that I need to accept the memory and stop thinking about it, the more I think about it the more out of control it gets in my head and the harder it is to escape from it. It’s like thinking about it or reliving it is like feeding it – it’s like I’m allowing it to take on a life of its own in my head.”

She hauled herself from the sand to a seated position and looked up to Nasir. He was watching her carefully. His eyes almost glinted, she saw his lip twitch a fraction like it had the other day in the cottage. Was he amused with her?

“Exactly,” he said quietly, his eyes moving between the two of them. “Your mind needs freedom to experience your life – but never forget that you are the masters of it.”

Harry nodded beside her, wiping the back of his hand across his brow as Hermione continued to watch the tall man before them. She felt like she was on the verge of a realization, the gears in her head were turning slowly as she watched him, and he stared right back– watching her intently as if he was waiting to see if she’d say something. Like he was testing her to see if she’d understand something he already knew.

Then it clicked.

“Eventually we won’t need this,” she said slowly, her eyes watching his face carefully as she spoke. Forming her conclusion as each word left her mouth. “That was the whole point of this spell – wasn’t it? It’s an exercise, a practice – it was never intended to be permanent in any way shape or form. It’s supposed to teach you control over your own mind both awake and asleep so you can still experience your memories or trauma but not let them consume you. To gain control, to understand that the more you focus on them the more they consume you. It’s to learn to acknowledge them and then let go – so eventually they’re not night terrors because they’re yours – you own them – you control all of your memories in full at any time.”

She felt a shiver run down her spine as something in his eyes shifted. She could not explain what it was, but the intensity had changed, it was like a darkness had come over them and he was staring at her with genuine expressed interest. She couldn’t look away from it but it made her pulse quicken as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

“Clever girl,” his dark voice echoed across the sand. His eyes lingered on hers before they shifted to Harry with equal interest. “Keep practicing and you’ll be able to master both occlumency and legilimens. You’ll even be able to alter people’s memory without detection.”

His eyes had moved back to Hermione now and he took a step forward.

“You did a fairly good job on it last time, but you’d missed closing the time gap. Never forget that just because you’ve removed the memories doesn’t mean that the time duration is gone. It shows up like a blank section on a reel of film and it’s visible to those who know to look for it. Though the memory removal was thorough,” he paused, he was standing less than two feet away from her now and he was still watching her carefully. “Makes one wonder what it was that you wanted to hide.”

Hermione swallowed and she felt Harry tense beside her. She didn’t know how to respond; she didn’t know if she should. The man was unreadable, even now while he was showing a small sliver of interest on his face she still had no idea what his motivations were or what he wanted. She hadn’t cared before – so long as he was no threat and helped them, she didn’t give a shit who he was or what his motivations were. Though now a small part of her was beginning to wonder if that was the right approach. The man was clearly dangerous, and he could easily cause irreparable damage to their efforts. Yet he’d been risking his life to gather information for the Order.

It didn’t make any sense. _He_ didn’t make any sense, it was like he operated outside of clear logic and his actions and involvement was completely chaotic and indifferent.

 _He’s a fucking dice roll_ , she thought as she eyed him.

He’d made no further movements and was still only watching her carefully, his eyes alight with the strange flicker of interest that made her stomach knot. She would not share anything with him that would make them vulnerable, but she knew that _he_ already knew what she’d done. The minute their eyes met in the kitchen of the cottage they shared that hollow empty exchange and she’d known he knew she’d killed people. So it wouldn’t hurt anyone to admit it now and maybe giving him _something_ would help her wrap her head around why he was here. Maybe it would make his motivations more clear – especially since he did seem interested in the two of them most over anyone else.

“I didn’t want them to know that we’d killed them,” she said slowly, her heart thumping loudly in her chest as she watched him carefully. “The people in the alley that night.”

“How?” his voice was low and even.

“I gutted him, hip to sternum with _sectumsempra_ – Harry decapitated the werewolf and then I,” Hermione swallowed and held the man’s gaze. “Then I killed Rose with _Avada_ _Kedavra._ ”

It felt strange hearing the admission out loud and it rang hard in her ears. Though she felt no guilt over it. She stood by her decision and she knew that Harry had too.

“That was a kind and selfless act,” Nasir said slowly his eyes moving between the two of them once more as he took another step closer. “One that not many would be willing to grant. Tell me – what other deadly spells have you two mastered?”

“Why?” Harry spoke beside her, she could hear the tension in his voice as much as she felt in in her bones.

Was this man spying? Was this man trying to size them up or figure out how much they knew? Was he trying to decide if they should come for the werewolf den infiltration? Her mind raced with a million possible reasons, but she did not anticipate the one that he gave as a slow dark predatory smile cut across his lips.

“So, I can decide which ones _I_ should teach you.”

-x-x-

Fleur brought them all dinner at 6:30pm knowing that Harry and Hermione would likely not want to come inside to eat. The three of them sat in the sand and ate in silence, Hermione’s mind lost in thought over everything she’d learned in the last two hours. She watched Nasir calmly eat his food, the darkness from his eyes was gone and he’d returned to his completely indifferent unnatural state. Sitting in the sand with the two of them in his black pants and white dress shirt eating the pasta from the bowl that rested in his left hand.

The man was lethal.

More lethal than she could have ever anticipated. There was no way that Shacklebolt knew what this man was capable of – no _fucking_ way.

Yet despite this she was now almost certain – except not really at all, that he was not planning to kill her or Harry. She didn’t know what he was planning. She wasn’t even sure who’s side he was on or if he even had a side for that matter. But she was somewhat confident that he would not have taught them what he just did if he’d been planning to duel them.

Then again. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he was hoping to make them stronger so he would have a challenge when he fought them?

She didn’t know.

She’d never felt more confused about a single human being in her entire life and she knew Harry was just as lost. She knew they would talk about it the moment they were alone. But for now, both of them just sat there, covered in sweat, their clothing singed, eating in stunned silence.

Shacklebolt and Lupin arrived for the meeting just as the three of them had finished eating and stood from the sand. Hermione saw Lupin look in their direction and freeze briefly before heading inside the cottage with Shacklebolt. Brushing the sand from her jeans Hermione tossed her hair into a sweaty bun on the top of her head – getting Harry to wrap the elastic around it. Then she grabbed her split sweater from the hill and fell into step beside Harry, Nasir taking his place on her left. As she neared the cottage she replaced her sweater using the spells Harry had shown her and ignored way it made her body feel like it was overheating. Then she ignored the strange looks they received as the three of them made their way into the kitchen and took the three seats nearest to the door – Harry on her right and Nasir on her left.

Fleur welcomed them with a smile as she always did. She brought them coffee and sent their used dishes to the sink. Arthur, who would not have been able to see the spells they’d been learning to the last two hours because of the charms that Nasir had cast, seemed pleased that their training had appeared uneventful and tame. He quickly kicked off the meeting.

Within an hour they finalized the details of the infiltration plan. The attack would take place on Monday the 13th of April. Mrs. Weasley would take a Polyjuice potion of Arthur and go to work on her husband’s behalf. Fleur would do the same for Bill and they would immediately swap places once the attack had been completed using illegal portkeys that Shacklebolt had arranged. The infiltration team would meet at 7am on the West side of the den outside of the wards in a small dense section of the forest that Nasir had selected. By this time all of the bonded pairs would have returned to the den, they would be sleeping, and Arlo would be in his lab working. Their seven and a half minute window would take place at 7:42am. At which point they would follow the plan laid out by Arthur on Wednesday – the four main sewer lines would be sealed, the patrol guards would be incapacitated, the protective wards would be set, the main gas line would be cut and the bomb would be carried into the den. Any muggles rescued would be ported to the safe zone that Arthur and Shacklebolt had created using two other portkeys. One carried by Lupin and the other by Arthur.

Much to Arthur’s displeasure, Hermione and Harry agreed to help. The Order didn’t have enough people to argue otherwise and by the 13th – arm or not, Hermione would be fully functional. Though Arthur insisted that Hermione and Harry’s involvement be limited to cutting the gas main and sealing the Northern most sewer. Nasir was to infiltrate the wards like he’d already been doing for the last while and take out the guards. Shacklebolt would dismantle and reset the wards. Arthur, Lupin and Bill would tackle the remaining three sewers, then Arthur and Lupin would make their way into the den with Nasir to set the bomb and pull out as many muggles as they could. Hermione, Harry, Bill and Shacklebolt would keep watch on the outside and provide assistance as needed.

They reviewed the map and the sequencing of the operation several times and agreed to meet a final time the following Saturday to address any last-minute concerns. When 9pm chimed on the kitchen clock Hermione and Harry stood from their chairs and led the group into the open living room, where they then began teaching them the basic shielding charm. They stressed the importance of never casting it on anyone but themselves and they warned about how the shield could also be turned into a bubble of death.

It took a while to go over the wand motions with everyone and the proper pronunciation. Hermione made them repeat it well over fifty times before she even allowed them to hold their wands in their hands. The whole set up reminded her of Dumbledore’s Army from fifth year. A collection of people looking to Harry for direction and guidance – except this time it was a group of adults. Yet all of them seemed to take their direction very seriously and none of them joked around. Any time she or Harry spoke the entire room listened carefully, giving them their full attention. It was an odd feeling.

They then demonstrated and each cast their shield charms. Hermione noticed that Nasir continued to watch them both carefully throughout the lessons though he did not participate. Either he had no use for the charm or he already knew it. Either way neither she nor Harry pressed him to learn nor commented on it. After working with him for six and a half hours today they knew he was more than capable – so he stood quietly off to the side of the room, leaning lightly against the wall as he watched.

Lupin was the first to cast the spell successfully. The purple jet shot from his wand and encased his body easily, lasting for a full minute before Hermione’s leg locker jinx finally hit him. When he’d been successful at casting, she’d moved him to other side of the living room and casually flung jinxes at him as she lazily moved her wand. When he fell to the floor she moved toward him, offered him her hand and cast the counterspell.

“Thank you, Hermione,” Lupin said as he grabbed her right hand and pulled himself off the ground.

She knew that he did not need her help to stand, she’d done it as a peace offering. She liked Lupin and she wanted him to know that despite her harsh words the last time they’d met, and despite her cold distant nature, they were still on the same side. She was about to join him and the other Order members on a dangerous mission – as it was, they already didn’t trust Nasir, she did not want them being nervous around her and Harry as well. She knew they needed to be able to work together if they were going to be successful.

She and Harry may be _different_ people from what they remembered, they may have changed, she may no longer be the friendly bubby person she once was, and she might be closed off – but she did still care. She just didn’t know how to be around them.

“No problem Lupin,” she gave him what she hoped was a smile, though she knew it felt a little tight. Touching his hand made her heart panic the same way it had when Nasir and Arthur had touched her. She knew it would be a continued problem for her and she forced herself to bite down her anxious nerves.

“Please – call me Remus,” Lupin smiled at her and she nodded. He hesitated a moment before he spoke again. “You – you don’t need your wand for that do you?”

“I don’t,” Hermione’s eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. “What gave it away?”

“The limp wrist,” Lupin said, his eyes flicking down to her hand. “I thought maybe it was because you’re using a different wand – but the movements were lazier than how you used to cast. I thought it was odd and wondered if maybe you were tired – then I realized it was just because it was unnecessary.”

“You’re very observant Remus,” Hermione gave him a genuine small smile.

“How much can you cast without a wand?” Lupin asked her curiously.

Hermione eyed him for a long moment, debating what to say as Harry continued to help the others behind them. It was unlikely that the information was damming yet she’d learned the hard way never to assume anything.

“Enough,” she said slowly, trying to give him an amused look so he knew that she was not intending to be rude. It took effort to respond like a normal person to other people. Often it seemed the words would leave her mouth flatly and then she’d remind herself to add facial expression afterwards, so her reactions this evening were all delayed.

Yet Lupin smiled at her and nodded. He understood – at least he seemed like he did because he asked to try again and she nodded, waiting for him to cast his shield and then pelting him with lazily cast jinxes once more.

By 10:30pm they gave up. Everyone had managed to at least shoot purple sparks, but Lupin was the only one with a solid shield. Fleur was a close second and her spell had actually encased her body though it did not last longer than a second. They all said they would practice until the following weekend and they’d test it again. Then they packed up for the night.

Hermione followed last out of the cottage. She felt weary and tired once more from the shield charm and she needed to take her second nerve regeneration potion then sleep for another mandated 15 hours. She lingered back from Harry as he said goodbye to everyone, and she leaned against the wall of the cottage – waving politely in return to Lupin before he apparated away. Shacklebolt left next, she’d nodded to him politely, then she turned her eyes to Arthur. Nasir was standing quietly just off to the right while Arthur asked Harry some more questions on the shield charm. She let out a long breath and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall of the cottage.

“Hermione,” the closeness of the low rich voice made her jump.

Her eyes shot wide, they jerked to her left to see Nasir leaning against the cottage only inches away from her. His head was angled towards hers and he was staring at her face. It made a shiver run down her spine and made her heart race in panic – had she fallen asleep standing up again? She couldn’t have, she’d been listening to Harry talk and she was certain the conversation had flown consistently.

“You didn’t fall asleep,” he said quietly, reading the panicked expression on her face. He paused, his eyes watching her for a second before he finally spoke again. “I believe this is yours.”

She felt him take her right hand gently and press something into it. Her eyes scrunched in confusion and she dropped her gaze to look at her hand. It was a piece of black fabric – but there was something hard wrapped within it.

Had she left something in the bedroom? Had she dropped something during training? Why was he standing so close to her? Why was he speaking so quietly? Why didn’t Arthur or Harry notice he was gone from their side? Had he used those charms like he had for training so no one knew he was standing here with her?

She tried to move the fabric to get to what was inside, but it was difficult to unwrap with one hand. Without hesitating she raised the fabric to her mouth and grabbed it tightly between her teeth, pulling open the knot so she could unravel it by twisting her wrist and flicking it in a circle. Her heart was pounding in her chest as the fabric pooled towards the ground. Then her breath caught in her chest and her eyes widened. Her fingers closed around the hard object as a familiar rush of warmth washed through her body – followed immediately by a string of bizarre information.

_My wand._

Her head shot back up and she looked at Nasir in shock. He was looking at her – _directly_ at her, with the same dark curious expression she’d seen earlier. It was beginning to feel almost familiar.

“ _Where did you get this_ ,” the words came from her mouth as a tight sharp rasp and she felt a hard tug across her chest as her brain failed to compute what was happening.

_It doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t make any fucking sense!_

A low dark smile curled across his lips once more making him look more dangerous. “Does it matter?”

He pushed himself off the wall, moving easily from his place at her side towards Harry and Arthur who both seemed completely unaware of the fact that he’d left at all. She stood dumbfounded, unable to speak or move as she watched him return to his place and turn around to face her just as Harry said goodbye and Arthur turned to grab him for the apparition.

“Don’t forget your second potion, Hermione,” Nasir said in his calm even voice. Nodding to Harry before Arthur grabbed hold of him and apparated him away.

(to be continued…)

-x-x-

Sorry this one is posted a bit late this Sunday – had a crazy week and this one was thicccc. Also! Thank you so much for the snack recommendations, I had a very tasty week and I learned about zebra popcorn – did you know this was a thing?!? I didn’t… haven’t had the chance to try it yet but I am excited about finding some.

I know not all of you will care about this update, but I’m really pleased with myself so I’m sharing anyways. I just got to over 45k words on my first full length novel and I’ve officially published 6 short dirty romance reads! *wiggles in excitement*

Woot!


	42. Chapter Forty-Two: Severus Snape - Part Three (part1/2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Today we circle back to my most favourite, bitter and snarky man – the one and only Professor Snape. We need to catch him up to speed with the rest of the characters, so we’ll be flashing over a few months.  
> Part One (chapter got too big)  
> 2\. If you’re not interested in Snape’s POV – *SORRY* – but this chapter does cover main plot related stuff so I recommend that you read it.  
> 3\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.  
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

**/***

**AN: So, I got a few questions on the last chapter and it has made me want to comment on two things.**

**First – I’m sorry I did not give much of a description on Nasir :/ Originally, I intentionally avoided giving much of a description because I wanted people to be free to picture who they wanted in the role. In hindsight I realize that this may have been a mistake since I did not give you much to work with and some of you have had trouble picturing him. So, for that I’m sorry but at this point I’m not going to add anything more since certainly some of you have an image of him and I don't want to ruin that by giving you a picture now. I am glad to know though that some of you have found someone who represents this character for you! :)**

**Second – Hermione and Harry have only been at Shell Cottage for a week thus far. Luna and Dean have been helping Fleur out and actively avoiding H &H at Bill and Fleur’s request. Mr. Ollivander and Griphook have been healing. This will be addressed in the next H&H chapter as I try to collect everyone back together and fill you in on what’s been going on. It’s been a bit challenging managing all these characters at once (I’ve been dreading this reunion) and I’d wanted to get Hermione’s arm resolved so I didn’t highlight anyone else. Just know that everyone else at the cottage is working hard even when I’m not specifically mentioning them. I’m going to try to do better balancing my plot progression with details as I know the last few chapters have been a bit heavy :P **

**That said, I think a lot of you will find a good deal of questions answered in this two part Snape update :) I hope it doesn’t disappoint and I am curious to know what you think. I’m a bit nervous about this reveal… so… yeah…**

***/**

This chapter, along with all future Snape POV chapters, is dedicated to **FluffyPandaShip**. You are my comment buddy for life and you hold a special place in my heart <3 you Fluffy

**Aani – *WARNING* (as requested) don’t read this in public or you will make faces at your phone. I <3 you**

**_February 1998_ **

Snape sat quietly at his desk, his eyes staring blankly at the papers before him. His hand was wrapped tightly around his wand and the silence from the room echoed in his ears. January had been quiet, not just for Potter and Granger who had done nothing but train and brew it seemed – but for him as well. _He_ had been quiet. After discovering that Dumbledore had been aware of the Horcruxes, that he’d been raising Potter like a pig for slaughter and was willing to risk the fate of the wizarding world on three (now two) children’s capacity to destroy the remaining four Horcruxes – not to mention that one of those Horcruxes was the boy himself and Snape now had the joyous task of informing him about it – he found that he simply had nothing left to say.

He felt stupid. He felt betrayed. Not that he had ever truly trusted Dumbledore to begin with, the man had always been moving according to his secret grand master plan. Yet still, Snape felt like his entire life since Lily died was a lie. He’d been protecting that idiot boy as payment for his failures. While unbeknownst to him all along he’d really just been tossing slop in the boy’s pen – making him fatter so that Dumbledore could drop the axe at the ‘ _right’_ moment. He understood why Potter had to die, if he was indeed a Horcrux as Dumbledore claimed he was then there was no other way around it.

Though that knowledge did little to settle his mind.

Inevitably he’d become the monster that everyone thought he was. He should have known that trying to escape his fate was a fool’s errand. He was a failure and he’d never been anything but. He should have known there was no sufficient payment that could be made to compensate for destroying a family and killing Lily – just more pain. One last final reminder of his despicable and shameful history. It was poetic justice he supposed, he’d always known his war effort was a one-way ticket to death. It just hurt to know that he’d been riding a different train this entire time and that his journey was completely different than the one he’d thought he was taking.

He was the executioner that’d killed Dumbledore, he was the con-artist that’d fooled the Order and the Dark Lord, and now he was the butcher who had been leading a child to death since he was eleven years old.

So, he avoided speaking to Dumbledore as much as possible. He spent the majority of his time either in his quarters or roaming the castle and dismantling the traps that Weasley and her gang had laid for him. He ordered Phineas to continue spying and only came into the office when required. Tonight, as it so happened, was one of those nights. Phineas had caught wind of Potter and Granger’s plan to go to Ottery St. Catchpole to gather potion ingredients and establish contact with Arthur Weasley. They wanted the antivenom recipe, which even he could not deny was worth the risk of going to the small wizarding village – getting anywhere near that snake was a death wish and their close proximity to it was inevitable. He just hoped that Granger would be smart enough to get them in and out of the village quickly, and that they went to the smaller Southern apothecary and avoided Peter’s.

He sat at his desk, rigid as a board, waiting while Phineas spied. Waiting to hear if anything went wrong. Clutching his wand tightly as the muscles in his shoulders strained in anticipation – not knowing if he would need to apparate away in a moment’s notice to haul them out of trouble. So far though, Phineas had only popped back into the frame to notify him that the magazine Granger had charmed was successfully placed at the post office. He hadn’t been back for a long while and Snape was starting to get anxious. If they’d gone to Peter’s they would be fucked and he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do to help them. Peter’s alarms were very elaborate, the village was crawling with snatchers and they’d swarm the place like flies on shit the second they sounded. He wasn’t above _dispatching_ witnesses if necessary, but he was hoping to be as discrete as possible.

Several quiet long minutes passed and he could feel Dumbledore staring at him. He ignored it and kept his eyes locked to the papers before him, hoping that the old man would not choose tonight to try and reestablish their communication. He was too tired. He didn’t want to deal with him or his pathetic justifications for his actions – it changed nothing.

Just when Dumbledore cleared his throat to disrupt the quiet Phineas stumbled into his frame and vomited aggressively.

“Merlin’s fucking balls I _–_ “ Phineas’ voice broke and he threw up once more, heaving for air as he clenched his hands over his ears.

“Fuck,” Snape let out a low deep sigh and pulled himself from his desk.

“Phineas!” Dumbledore’s voice rang out startled. “What happened – are you okay?”

“NO, I’M NOT _OKAY_!” Phineas snarled as he leaned against the edge of his frame and gripped his stomach tightly. “They went to some bloody apothecary that had alarms and Hermione set them off on her last ingredient!”

“Deep breaths Phineas,” Snape said as he quickly donned his frockcoat and cast a disillusionment spell on himself.

“Severus?! Where are you going?” Dumbledore was moving anxiously in his frame, his eyes watching Snape closely despite the fact he wasn’t visible.

“To delay your pig roast,” Snape replied coolly, disapparating from the office.

He landed across the street from Peter’s apothecary and gritted his teeth at the noise. He could not even begin to imagine what it might feel like to be inside the house. His head felt like it was being hit with a hammer while his stomach knotted.

 _No wonder Phineas threw up_ , Snape thought as he moved swiftly into the middle of the street and cast a thick ward around the house.

There was no way to stop the alarms in their entirety, only Peter would be able to turn them off. However, he could at least dampen the sounds to prevent them from carrying through the frigid night air and waking the entire small village. It might buy Potter and Granger some much needed time to get out of the building. His eyes darted around the street and the house before him as he looked for any signs of movement or any signs of the duo – but there was nothing. Aside from the god-awful sounds that had been echoing throughout the cold night air they’d completely covered their tracks. There wasn’t a single sign of anyone having come or gone since the snow had fallen.

 _Impressive_ , he thought snidely as he eyed both ends of the street for approaching snatchers. It was irritating to acknowledge that Granger and Potter had done something well, but he could not deny it – Phineas had said they’d only tripped the alarms when Granger acquired the _final_ ingredient. That meant that they’d successfully gotten inside _and_ managed to take supplies.

He crinkled his nose in irritation. Just how much training had they done?

The freezing air bit at his exposed neck but he resisted the urge to shiver. The wards kept the alarms at a dull hum, it would be possible for them to get away yet. Though so far, he’d not seen any movement. Just as Snape had taken another few steps forward in anxious anticipation his eyes were drawn to the second-floor window on the right and his body clenched when he saw the unmistakable shape of two bodies all but jump from the opening. The dark figures plummeted two floors down, landing in the snow with a loud thud only to disappear from view almost instantaneously after sitting up. It was so dark he had barely been able to make out their movements at all, but he could tell they were gone.

 _No,_ he thought as he moved forward more, squinting in the darkness and eyeing the snow where they had clearly fallen. There was nothing there. Not even a dent in the snow. _Did they fucking apparate?_

His jaw clenched as he looked back up to the window to see Peter staring out and looking down at the empty snow. If they’d apparated away after being in those alarms they would surely splinch themselves. Granger wasn’t stupid enough to take that risk. His eyes lingered on the spot where they’d fallen, he barely noticed that the alarms had been turned off as he continued to stare into the darkness, straining his eyes, forcing them to focus – then he saw it. A single footstep before it was quickly vanished from sight.

 _Fucking cloak_ , Snape rolled his eyes but pinched the bridge of his nose in relief.

They were fine. They’d covered themselves in Potter’s blasted cloak to give themselves more time. He felt the tension in his shoulders lessen as he stepped back away from the house. He no longer saw any tracks being made in the snow, but he suspected that they were moving towards the tree cover along the fence.

Snape’s head snapped to his left when he heard the noise of two approaching voices from the street and he quickly removed his wards. He silently moved back across the street, keeping closer to the side that Potter and Granger were hiding and watching as three figures approached Peter’s front door. Two were snatchers, the third was a large werewolf which walked at the largest snatcher’s heel. It was a bit disturbing to see the beast under such control – it was completely against their nature and not like anything Snape had ever seen.

Peter’s voice rang out across the air as he tried to brush off the sounded alarms and dispatch the snatchers though it was clear that they would not be leaving. Snape watched quietly as Peter did his best to slow them down and only relented to bring them around the side of the house when wands had been drawn. He waited cautiously, wand gripped tightly in his hand as Peter slowly left his house and made a show of removing his wards to let the snatchers and their _dog_ on the property – there were no wards, Peter was lying. Only the inside of his house was warded, yet he risked the lie to delay them regardless.

Snape’s shoulders tensed at the realization. Did the man know who had broken into his house or was he simply trying to avoid the Dark Lord’s minions from meddling in his affairs? It was impossible to know. He watched as they finally made their way into the side yard and he did not leave until he heard the faint echo of a small apparition pop sounding through the night air – until he was sure that Potter and Granger had left safely. Snape felt his arm twitch and a heavy sigh leave his body as he finally turned on his heel and apparated away silently.

He had not wanted to attack two snatchers, Peter and a werewolf – but he would have.

-x-x-

Snape moved silently through the corridor toward his office. It was late, far too late. His head was pounding and his leg felt like it was on fire – which was appropriate given that it had _literally_ been on fire four hours ago and it had yet to be treated. Given the situation in the castle he plainly refused to go see Madam Pomfrey for fear of being poisoned. Not by the lady herself. She would never do it. She was under oath to serve the Headmaster and she did not have a violent bone in her body. It wasn’t in her heart or nature, she was a healer to her core, and she would help him if he went to her.

But _she_ wasn’t what he was worried about – it was everyone else. There was nothing stopping the _others_ from swapping her potions or even putting her under an _imperius_. And after everything he had done so far, he’d be damned if he fucking died because some dolt of a Professor thought they were helping the cause by poisoning his dittany.

He healed himself.

Always.

Every time.

He’d just not managed to get back to his office until now. He’d gotten delayed after dinner by Professor Flitwick, then he’d spent several hours removing a swamp from the hallway outside of the Slytherin dormitory. Back aching, feet sore and anger flaring he’d attempted to make his way back to his office just before midnight. He’d been walking down a quiet hallway only to pass through an archway and get hit with an exploding ball of flames cast by one of the idiot Carrows. They’d been trying to fend off an animated suit of armour that was attacking them. He'd had to go get Professor McGonagall from her quarters to stop the menace as it clanged down the hallway and swung its axe at the two Death Eaters – cutting deep gashes into the nearby tapestries and breaking several windows.

When the woman rounded the corner and saw it Snape didn’t miss the look of amusement on her face and the wonder in her eyes. Nor did he miss how she took longer to stop the armour than what he suspected was necessary. Even he could not deny that the level of skill required to create such a charm was impressive, so impressive that he had originally doubted that Weasley or any member of her gang would have been able to implement it – yet McGonagall’s surprise suggested that, unbelievably, she'd had nothing to do with it. Given that the charm had to be transfiguration based since the armour had been expanded he’d found this shocking. It meant that one of the students must have figured it out. Who – Snape had no idea.

After the armour had finally been stopped and brought back to its original place along the wall Snape had sent the Carrows away and then cast a heavy silencing charm around himself and the older woman. He’d glared at her as rage poured off of him in waves. Dumbledore was the only one he ever yelled at. Dumbledore was the only one he ever lost his temper with. With everyone else he remained calm, cold, calculating, distant, quiet, detached – completely void of any emotion.

But not tonight.

His leg was burning in agony, his shoulders felt heavy as he struggled to balance his mission with his desire to avoid unnecessary casualties. His heart was still wounded from the reality of his legacy and now this witch and her students were going to get themselves killed because they just could not fucking stop.

He’d yelled at her, tearing into her and berating her for her lack of control of her house. She’d gone from looking shocked at his angry outburst to growing livid herself and exploding. She vehemently denied having anything to do with the suit of armour, she’d argued that no student would have the skill necessary to do it. They’d stood there for over half an hour yelling at one another as Snape felt himself breaking. His cold exterior was gone and he was losing control.

He needed her to control her house. He needed her to control the redhead or eventually someone would end up dead. Yet he couldn’t even tell her that – he couldn’t explain himself, he couldn’t ask her nicely, he couldn’t let her know what was really going on or he would risk everything. So, he’d unleashed his anger as an interrogation and string of insults – and she’d given it right back. Letting out months of pent up anger and frustration with him as if she’d forgotten who he was and what sort of danger she could be putting herself in. When they’d finally reached a solid impasse, Snape’s voice was hoarse, his nails had sunken so deep into his palms he could no longer feel anything in his hands. He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and told the woman to get control of her house before the Carrows killed someone.

Then he’d made a mistake.

" _I cannot control them forever_ ," he'd said through gritted teeth.

Mcgonagall’s eyes had widened at that and she'd stared at him in confusion. It had been too much. He shouldn’t have said it. Even those few small words revealed too much and risked everything – so he’d halfheartedly slapped on ‘ _eventually I will take care of things myself – permanently’_ and turned on his heel and left the hall in a swirl of robes.

Now climbing the stairs to his office, he limped and bit down the urge to hiss in pain. He knew the damage wasn't that bad, it only hurt because it had been neglected for several hours and fire ball had burned most of the skin from his calf. There would undoubtedly be a sticky mess to clean up. He would need to disinfect it, pick the cloth from the wound and then heal it with dittany.

He sighed as he pushed open the door and walked into his office – the night was far from over. His shoulders slumped as he closed the door behind him with both hands. Dropping his head against the hard wood and closing his eyes. He felt like he was carrying the weight of the fucking world on his shoulders and he was so tired he could feel it in his bones. They weren’t even close to being done – Potter and Granger still had so far to go and yet he felt like he was running on fumes. He’d need to start dabbling with his potions again soon. He could not afford to fuck up like he had with McGonagall and jeopardize everything. Taking a breath, he pushed himself from the door, warded it and moved across the office toward his chambers. He hoped to Merlin that nothing had happened with Potter and Granger.

His eyes flicked to Phineas as he walked, and he paused mid stride. The man was awake, sitting in his frame, head held in his hands and looking like he was in a daze. His expression was blank yet something heavy was radiating out from his core.

"Phineas?" Snape said more gently than he normally would have. He wasn't a caring person by nature but something about Phineas’ posture stilled his normally burning rage. This office had become the place where he usually let his rage out – yet tonight he felt it fizzle in his chest.

Phineas' head jerked up, his eyes looking blankly before him for a moment before they focused on Snape.

"Oh, Severus – I didn't hear you come in."

Snape's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to the portrait, ignoring the throbbing of his leg. “Phineas – what happened?”

He was keenly aware that Dumbledore’s eyes had opened at his words and that the elderly wizard was now listening intently to the exchange. Phineas looked at him, meeting his eyes directly and Snape felt his heart still. It hurt. The man looked anguished, heartbroken – he’d never seen Phineas Black express such emotion.

“Hermione and Potter went back to Birmingham, to harvest snakeweed,” Phineas said slowly, swallowing hard before he continued. “They managed to get it but – while they were along the canal they heard a scream. It was a muggle woman.”

Phineas went quiet and Snape felt his body growing tense.

“What happened Phineas?” Snape kept his voice level and calm. “Were they attacked?”

“No,” Phineas said, his eyes dropping to stare blankly at the wall behind Snape. “They’re safe.”

“Okay,” Snape felt an uneasiness creeping through his body. “They’re safe, they have the snakeweed – they can complete the antivenom potion now. What happened to the muggle woman?”

“They went to her,” Phineas said quietly, still unwilling to look at him directly.

“They _went_ to her?” Snape felt his voice growing tight.

“Yes,” Phineas let out a long heavy sigh, forcefully dragging his eyes away from the wall to meet Snape’s gaze. “She’d been attacked by two snatchers and a werewolf. Hermione killed the one snatcher – Potter killed the beast. They took the second one with them for questioning but – they tried to save the woman. Hermione’s purse was open as they worked – I – I could hear them – they tried _everything_ Severus – but the wounds wouldn’t close. Her body was rejecting the magic.”

Snape had gone perfectly still. He held Phineas’ gaze firmly, understanding exactly why this had unsettled him so. This was now the second time the duo had killed. _And_ it was the first time that Granger would have tried something and failed – regardless of how prepared they were they had no control over a muggles ability to process or handle dark magic. Accepting the death of someone you could not save was hard, it weighed heavy on your heart and he knew it would hit her harder than Potter – Potter had seen death, up close more than once. Granger had not. Not like that. Not while kneeling next to the person, holding their hand as they bled out before her eyes. If these two didn’t deal with the situation well it could potentially derail the entire plan that Dumbledore had laid out. From the corner of his eye he could see Dumbledore’s tight expression and he knew they’d already strayed heavily from the path he’d laid for them. He’d intended for them to die – but he’d never intended for them to become killers.

Ironic really.

It seemed to be an odd double standard that Dumbledore often applied to his _helpers_.

“Did they stay with her while she bled out?” Snape asked, his voice was low and soft.

“No,” Phineas said, his voice breaking as his eyes waivered. “The woman asked for mercy – and Hermione granted it.”

“How?” his word was a hoarse whisper.

“ _Avada Kedavra_ ,” Phineas said quietly.

Snape felt the room around them go silent. He could see the shocked expression on Dumbledore’s face – the elderly man did not know what to do with this information. _This_ had not been his plan.

Snape felt like another weight had just settled on his shoulders as he stared at Phineas. Not many witches or wizards cast unforgivables in their lifetime – and the majority of the ones that did were not decent people. They were twisted individuals who cared little about the consequences. Phineas was one such wizard who would never be able to understand the weight that came with granting death. Snape did. He felt it. Heavy like a stone in his chest for each time he’d claimed a life, and knowing that Granger would now carry that same weight with her made his stomach churn. Annoying as the little know-it-all was, she deserved a better life. _They_ deserved better than this – and yet he would go on doing everything he could to force them to keep going, to force them to finish this war. Then he would ask Potter to die. It was the harsh reality of life and it wasn’t fair.

“How are they?” Snape asked quietly, his voice echoing loudly in the still silence.

“They seem – okay,” Phineas said slowly. “They questioned the snatcher then dropped him to Arthur Weasley for additional questioning along with the werewolf corpse – it seemed like they were able to cover up any involvement.”

“Good,” Snape nodded.

“Severus,” Phineas spoke nervously, “The Order has a new legilimens that they are going to use for questioning.”

Snape frowned, there was no other legilimens as far as he knew. “Who?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“As soon as you find out tell me,” Snape said, his mind beginning to spin. “Tomorrow I will place a charm on your portrait so you can alert me regardless of where I am – the alarm in my quarters won’t be enough going forward.”

Phineas nodded.

“And go back over there for tonight,” Snape said tightly. “Granger is likely to have nightmares – it’s hard to say how she will handle everything, keep an eye on them both. Let me know if their behaviour starts to change or if their patterns shift.”

“Of course,” Phineas nodded once more and pulled himself up to his feet before moving out of the frame.

Snape stood still on his spot as he forced his mind to process the information. Granger and Potter’s kill count was growing, Granger had cast an unforgivable, they’d interrogated a snatcher – their actions were becoming calculated, cold and detached – they were doing what was _necessary_ instead of clinging to false fantasies for how they _wanted_ things to go. At first he’d assumed that they’d only killed those snatchers and the wolf on the hill because they’d had no other choice. He’d assumed that it had been strictly self-defense. And yet tonight they had freely sought out a muggle in need and taken out her attackers – by choice. Either they were immensely stupid and irresponsible – which was plausible. Or they’d become much more skilled and dangerous than he’d given them credit for – which begrudgingly, he supposed was also plausible.

He would need to watch them more closely and keep an eye on their personalities. To top it all off, now the Order _allegedly_ had a new legilimens? There was only one other decent legilimens out there that he knew of, but he doubted they would be desperate enough to seek him out and he much less doubted that the man would agree to help – so who could it be?

“Severus,” Dumbledore’s voice tore him from his thoughts. Snape’s eyes shifted over to him slowly. The man looked upset. “ _This_ was never supposed to happen, you will need to keep a close eye on them to make sure that they stay focused on task and do not get lost in despair. It can be easy to fall into agony over one’s past actions – especially ones that cannot be undone.”

“Yes,” Snape’s eyes narrowed at the man as he spoke. His voice low and his jaw tight. “I know.”

**_March 1998_ **

“Good morning,” Phineas said with a yawn as Snape entered the office early to finish the work he had not been able to complete the evening before after being summoned to the Manor.

He paused, looking toward Phineas with an arched eyebrow. It was neither a good morning nor a morning to be good on. It was just another damn day that would yet again ask too much from him. Though why Phineas was up at the crack of dawn was beyond him. Typically, portraits loved to sleep in and would complain if he disturbed them between the hours of 11pm to 10am since they seemed to think they ran the office hours per their schedule.

“What has you up so early?” Snape asked, ignoring the pleasantries and taking a seat at this desk with a scowl.

“I have been getting up early every morning for the last few months,” Phineas said with a stretch of his arms. “ _You_ just don’t notice because you’re either still out from the night before or already gone.”

“Alright,” Snape glanced up at him and glared. There was a shimmer of amusement in Phineas’ eyes, so he reworded his question and spat it out as foully as he could. “ _Why_ have you been getting up early the last few months.”

“Well – Hermione and Potter get up early, they tend to talk about their plans during breakfast, which should be soon. _And,_ sometimes they leave the purse open, so I was just on my way to go check and see how they are.”

It made sense. Phineas had been relaying a lot more information since January – he must have realized that his typical sleeping patterns were not ideal for spying. Hence why they were aware of the extent of their training, their potion brewing, their plans – though it was interesting to see that Phineas had been willing to shift his personal life in order to fulfill his orders. Snape got the distinct impression that Phineas truly did care for the duo – particularly Granger, whom he often spoke of with high regard. He’d been doubling his efforts to keep an even closer eye on them after the incident in Birmingham. Thankfully, at least from what they could tell, Granger had not imploded in on herself after killing the muggle woman they now knew was named Rose. She’d experienced night terrors – which was to be expected, yet otherwise she had been doing surprisingly well and had even managed to decode the banding magic used on the werewolves _and_ the bonding process with the snatchers. It was more than he had been able to figure out as Bellatrix ensured he didn’t come anywhere near _her_ project and Narcissa had little information to share.

“Sounds wonderful,” Snape said sarcastically as he dipped his quill in ink. “Go do that then.”

“I will,” Phineas said brightly, clearly not allowing Snape’s unpleasant mood to dampen his spirits.

Snape had only just started to draft the second report when Phineas returned, stumbling into the frame, quickly righting himself and fixing his clothes. He looked flustered, his expression was a combination of shame and... embarrassment? There was a tint of pink to his cheeks that was irregular and caught Snape’s attention instantly.

“Back so soon?” Snape said sitting back in his chair and arching a brow. It was now his turn to be amused with Phineas. “What happened? I thought you were going to listen for information – isn’t this your _normal_ morning routine now?”

“Y-Yes er, I was yes,” Phineas faltered as he spoke, which was also irregular. “But I think I'll go back later.”

“Why?” Snape said dryly, his tired brain not making any of the connections that it normally would have quickly made.

“Oh – just I think later would be a better time. They uh, just seemed – _busy_ ,” he said the last word with a slight inflection and his face was completely pink now. He looked desperate to change the topic and Snape’s amusement turned into a scowl.

 _Is this wizard an idiot?_ He thought as his annoyance flared and his sluggish mind grew weary with guess work.

“If they're _busy_ wouldn't that be the _exact_ time that you would want to listen in? What were they do–“ his words cut off as his brain flashed the memory of the duo’s passionate kiss on the ice to the forefront of his mind and he felt his eyes widen as understanding dawned on him.

He’d buried that memory down deep and even contemplated removing it entirely from his head all together. He’d almost forgotten about it, but Phineas’ embarrassed and somewhat desperate expression had caused it to resurface. That had to be it, they had to be – he forced his thoughts to stop. He would _never_ admit to anyone how long it took him to make the connection – but he supposed it was because of his extensive efforts to ignore and forget the details of Potter's love life.

A heartbeat passed between him and Phineas, their eyes locked in a single moment of knowing and unspoken understanding before they both averted their eyes in embarrassment.

“Never mind!” Snape said quickly. He waved his hand as if to physically remove the idea from his head. He felt gross and disturbed to think of _it_ and he wanted it gone, he didn’t want to imagine them being _intimate_.

“What's going on, what were they doing?” Dumbledore asked, his voice only adding to the awkwardness that had spread across the office and Snape saw Phineas blush a deeper shade of red. Once again, Dumbledore had confirmed Snape’s suspicion: that he was _never_ asleep and was _always_ listening in and spying on them.

“Nothing,” Snape and Phineas said in unison, both of them now trying to look busy with whatever was in front of them. Snape ruffled through his papers, not looking for anything in particular as Phineas became absolutely enthralled by his cuff links.

“I don’t understand,” Dumbledore said slowly, genuinely curious as he looked between the two of them. “Phineas needs to get more information on their movements – we need to know what they’re doing.”

“Not _that_ information,” Snape muttered under his breath. “ _Or_ those movements.”

“What was that?” Dumbledore said squinting at him, he had been quiet enough for Dumbledore to miss his words.

“I said he’ll go back later!” Snape spat quickly and stood from his desk. He needed to get out of his office and take a walk outside – clear his head of the uncomfortable thoughts that were circling his mind.

It was bad enough that he knew _anything_ about Potter and Granger’s love life, and it was now ten times worse that he knew they were engaging in sexual exploits – exploits explicit enough to chase Phineas away and turn the normally calm and collected wizard’s face beet red. The only way that this knowledge could possibly be made worse was if he then had to explain it to the dead Headmaster.

 _Absolutely fucking not_ , he thought as he grabbed his frockcoat and left the office before Dumbledore could press the issue further.

-x-x-

March was an odd month. Potter and Granger kept quiet, keeping busy with their training, brewing the antivenom, and preparing to go see Xenophilius Lovegood. Which was highly concerning. The strange man had long since been under the control of the Death Eaters, yet there was no way for Snape to tell the duo that. He couldn’t warn them. He couldn’t protect them if they went there – it was heavily warded and monitored. He wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near it without raising suspicion. All he could do was wait and watch on the sidelines as they trained while he discussed potential means of saving them with Dumbledore and Phineas. In short – Dumbledore was adamant that he not get involved and that he trust Potter and Granger.

Which only resulted in more argument between him and the dead wizard. It was astounding how much time he wasted on someone who wasn’t even alive.

What was most odd about March was that for the entire month nothing happened around the castle. Weasley’s attacks had subsided and things had become eerily quiet. Either his slip up with Professor McGonagall had actually helped – or they were planning something big. He tended to think it was the latter. Either way he kept his guard high as he walked the castle corridors and patrolled the grounds at night.

He even, out of the goodness of his black heart, decided to ignore catching Weasley and the Bones girl snogging in the library – he’d cast a rapid disillusionment charm and beelined out of the room. No one else was there so no one had seen him. Thus, no one would find it odd that he’d not reacted and if he was being honest, he didn’t want to react. He didn’t want to upset the odd calm that had encapsulated the school by dishing out unnecessary detentions. Besides – it had seemed rather desperate and it had made him massively uncomfortable. It explained _a lot_ though and he’d spent the rest of that day wondering why the fuck the universe seemed so intent on giving him so much unwanted information on his student’s sex lives.

It wasn’t until the end of the month that _something_ finally happened.

“He’s back!” Phineas cut into the frame of his portrait; his face twisted into a scowl.

“Who’s back?” Snape asked, looking up from the collection of potions he was labelling.

“Weasley,” Phineas scowled deeper.

“That’s great news,” Dumbledore perked up in his portrait and Snape saw his eyes twinkle. It was as if he thought his plan was finally coming together.

“Hardly,” Phineas sneered. “He showed up just a few minutes ago – Hermione is not happy about it, she just laid into him pretty good.”

“Phineas my dear friend,” Dumbledore was shaking his head. “They were always stronger as a group. I won’t lie that I am a bit surprised it took him so long to return but undoubtably it is a good thing. They will need each other in order to be successful.”

“Seriously?” Snape said dryly, his brow arching as he set down the bottle he would be delivering to Narcissa later that night. He’d been watching the bitter exchange between the two wizards and forcing himself not to roll his eyes. “The Weasley boy is an incompetent ape – I doubt he has done anything for the last few months but sulk in hiding. It is astounding that he was not captured during that time let alone killed. He’s going to slow them down – Phineas keep a close eye on them. I have to go out tonight to drop off the potions requested by the Dark Lord but signal me if anything happens.”

“Of course,” Phineas nodded, giving Dumbledore a dirty look before leaving his frame once more.

“Severus – you’re too hard on the boy,” Dumbledore’s irritation was evident. “Harry and Hermione have become too distanced from the world. They’re closing themselves off – Ronald Weasley will help to balance them out and bring them back to us.”

“Or he will become solely responsible for their deaths,” Snape said snidely, picking up the bottle once more and finishing the label. “They are distanced – they are cold – you might not like it but it’s what happens when you send _children_ off into the woods to fend for themselves and fight a _fucking_ war Albus. Deny it all you want – it might be hard for you to digest but they have _killed_ people Albus. They’re not the same people they were when they left – your plan is out of date, it doesn’t factor in the new information or how they’ve changed. That idiotic redhead will never understand – he doesn’t know what they’ve been through.”

“Feeling a kinship with them are we Severus?” Dumbledore asked, his voice low and almost angry. “It is critical that you ensure they don’t stray too far down a dark path like you did – and Ronald Weasley will help with that.”

Snape snorted audibly. “I don’t feel _anything_ for them Albus – but tell me, which one is it? Do you want me to ensure that they are successful, or do you want me to save their souls? In case you’ve failed to notice – your original plan has gone to shit. Weasley didn’t return when you expected. Potter and Granger are practically connected at the hip – they would die for one another faster than anything else and they’ve experienced more darkness in the last seven months than most witches or wizards do in their lifetime. _And they’ve accepted it._ It’s time you come to terms with the fact that _you_ fucked up and stop pretending like you still somehow have things under control.”

Snape stood from his desk and gathered the collection of potions into a small bag.

“This war has escalated beyond what you anticipated, beyond what anyone had anticipated. There will be consequences for fighting in it and Potter and Granger are going to suffer them because _you_ assigned them to the task,” Snape turned and made his way to the door of his quarters. “You’re the one who feels something toward them – guilt perhaps? Desperation? Have you finally grown a conscious now that you’ve realized what you’ve asked of them?”

“Severus,” Dumbledore cut him off, his voice like ice. “That’s enough – don’t project your own guilt about your fail– ”

“I’m not projecting anything,” Snape hissed, his eyes flashing in anger. “I accepted my role years ago – I know exactly _where_ I’m going when this is all over. But it’s time that _you_ start to accept the sentence you’ve handed down to Potter and Granger.”

-x-x-

A duel had broken out between a sixth year Slytherin and a second year Gryffindor after breakfast – duel was a misnomer, it had been a blindsided attack. The moron Figgins – had hit the Gryffindor for no reason whatsoever. Which, inevitably, had caused an all-out battle to arise between the students in the hallways outside the Great Hall. Professor Slughorn had been hit in the crossfire, he'd collided with a statue and fell unconscious. McGonagall had yelled and fought to get control of her house. The Carrows had hit three young students with a wicked round of _cruciatus_ , filling the corridor with ragged screams of pain and only fueling the hatred and fighting further. And Flitch, the fucking imbecile, had somehow gotten mixed up in the center of the brawl and ended up attached to the ceiling – unable to get down.

Snape had to freeze half of them in place with a wide ranging _immobulus_ and whip up a protective barrier in between the sides to stop the commotion. He could feel the ringing in his head – Phineas was calling to him. He didn’t have time to deal with this shitshow right now, Potter and Granger were going to the Lovegood residence today and bringing that idiot Weasley boy with them as a lookout. Something had obviously gone wrong based on the urgency of the ringing in his head. He needed to get back to his office – but if he left now there would be dead students in the hall. He ordered the Carrows to take the Slytherins to their common room. He sentenced the entire Gryffindor house to detention and curfew for the next three weeks and he locked them inside the Great Hall with Professor McGonagall. He had Madam Pomfrey tend to the wounded and he left Flitch hanging from the ceiling, making his way in a billow of robes towards his office.

He barged into his office and instantly heard Phineas screaming at him as he warded his door.

“Severus! Severus! They got captured at the Lovegood’s – Bellatrix was searching their bag and found the sword!” Phineas looked frantic as he strained himself between the two frames, his body was tense and his hand hovered by his ear. He looked like he might be sick as he forced the words out. “They don’t know who they are but she thinks they’ve been in her vault and now she is torturing Hermione – Severus I –“

The man flinched with pain in his frame and his hands shot to his ears.

“Where are they?” Snape could feel his whole body tense. “Are they at the Manor?”

“Yes – I could hear Narcissa and Lucius – Severus – she’s going to _die_ Severus!“

Snape nodded, grabbing his frockcoat off his chair and pulling it on.

“Severus,” Dumbledore’s stern voice cut through the air. “You cannot go – you haven’t been summoned.”

“Thank you for that obvious piece of information – I’m perfectly well aware I haven’t been summoned,” Snape spat with irritation. He could feel his skin prickling as his stomach started to knot.

This was not good. He couldn’t simply show up but he could not leave Potter and Granger at the Manor. They would die there. It was likely that the only reason the Dark Lord had yet to be summoned was because of what had happened two weeks ago. The snatchers had brought by three muggles – mistaking them as Potter, Granger and Weasley. Bellatrix had summoned the Dark Lord in excitement before she’d even _looked_ at the lot – the results had been disastrous. He wasn’t sure that Lucius would ever fully recover from his injuries and Bellatrix had gone several rounds screaming on the floor in agony before the Dark Lord finally calmed down. The three muggles had died – their bodies vanished from existence after their blood had leaked across the floor. He knew it had affected Narcissa – more deeply than she would ever let on. They’d only been kids after all, possibly as young as thirteen. Even he could still see their dead faces burned into his mind.

He watched as Phineas crumpled in on himself and tears began to shine in his eyes. Even though he could not hear it he could _feel_ it. He was well acquainted with Bellatrix’s affinity for the _cruiciatus_ curse and he’d been on the receiving end before. He knew perfectly well what was happening and it made his heart race with panic.

“Severus,” Phineas whimpered. “You _have_ to go to them – she’s going to kill her.”

“Severus you must stay here,” Dumbledore said firmly, his eyes flashing with panic as he moved closer to them in his frame. “If you show up it will expose _everything_.”

“Severus! _Please_!” Phineas appeared to be in physical pain as he looked up at Snape in agony. “You _have_ to do something! Help them! She’s DYING!”

“Severus,” Dumbledore’s voice was tight with panic. “You have not been summoned, you cannot just show up – you don’t ‘ _know’_ that they’re there!”

Snape groaned; his eyes flicked between the portraits before him as his hand clenched into a tight fist. What the fuck was he supposed to do. Bellatrix was insane. She was a rabid dog with no leash and even the Dark Lord could not always control her. The odds of her killing the Granger girl during torture were not only high – they were most probable. It would only be a matter of time before Potter was next, _or_ the Dark Lord himself was summoned. Then the war would be over. Everything he had worked for would be lost and the wizarding world would be at the hands of a raging lunatic.

“ _SEVERUS_!” Phineas practically screeched as what sounded like a sob burst from his mouth. It was like nothing Snape had ever heard before and it turned his blood cold. “PLEASE! _PLEAASE_!”

“FUCK!” Snape rammed his fist into his desk biting back the pain before yanking the desk drawer open so hard it came right out of the socket. He began shoving several bottles into his pockets, hoping to Merlin he wasn’t about to get tortured too far past repair for showing up uninvited.

“Severus! Where are you going?!” Dumbledore’s panicked voice rang out across the office as Snape stood up and made his way to the center to apparate.

“I’m going to make sure that your prized pig and his side kick aren’t murdered before they’re fat enough – I thought you wanted to _stick_ to the _plan_ ,” Snape sneered with hatred.

“But what is it that you’re going to do – you haven’t been summoned!”

“I’ll figure that out when I get there,” Snape snarled, turning quickly on his heel and leaving with a loud pop.

He landed hard before the Malfoy Manor gate, he hadn’t put any effort into slowing his movement or quieting the pop of his apparition – there was no point, Lucius and Narcissa would know that he was there the second he stepped past the wards. Right now, he needed to focus, he needed to remain calm and come up with a plan for what the hell he was going to do and how the fuck he was supposed to explain his presence. He moved swiftly up the pathway to the Manor, he could see the lingering footprints in the mud from a large group of people that had walked the path before him. No doubt it was Potter and Granger.

When he reached the front door he wrenched it open, planning to dart up the stairway as quickly as possible when a huge thudding sound echoed through the mansion on his right. He froze and then turned toward the front parlor, the sounds of multiple voices screaming met his ears. Pulling the doors open his eyes grew wide and time seemed to slow.

In the center of the room there stood a tall, dirty, ragged and intimidating man. Long black hair curled around his face, his features were twisted with rage and focused intently on Bellatrix who was standing with her back to him just off to his left. The man was clutching a bloodied and small form protectively to his chest, his wand was raised, aimed at Bellatrix’s face as her angry scream echoed around the room. Greyback was _in_ the fucking wall, his body crumpled forward as blood trickled from his head. A snatcher to the left of Bellatrix split into three pieces as the bloodied girl in the center of the room raised her hand – his blood and innards spilled out across the floor with a sickening sound.

Then, to no reason that Snape could comprehend, non-other than Dobby – the house elf who was determined to starve him to death – stood before them both with his tiny hand outstretched as if to stop Bellatrix from harming those behind him. Behind the elf stood a small goblin, clutching onto him tightly.

Snape’s breath caught as time sped up, resuming back to normal speed and everything happened in a flash. A small purse hurtled across the room, speeding toward the hand of the bloodied girl that the ragged dark-haired man held. Her form was slumped, her left side looked limp, yet her face was laced with rage. Bellatrix threw her knife at the group, the dark-haired man looked down and they disappeared with an echoing crack.

Just before they had vanished, Snape caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes and his body tensed. They were green. Bright green. He knew those eyes. They haunted him in his sleep. That _man_ had been Potter – which meant that that bloodied and beaten looking girl he was holding was Granger.

He knew it was.

 _What the fuck just happened_.

He didn’t understand what he had just seen. How had that snatcher exploded? How were they capable of this? How was she standing after having been tortured by Bellatrix? It didn’t make any sense. He could not rationalize what he’d seen with his image of them in his head. He knew they had been training – but not like this. It didn’t fit and he felt his mind spinning as he tried to rationalize what the fuck had just happened. He forced his brain to calm, biting down his confusion and making himself breathe – he would have to sort this out later, right now he needed to act.

The room around him seemed stunned into silence, no one was moving, no one was breathing, and he forced his brain to focus. Taking advantage of their stupor and the fact that no one had heard him enter he pushed the doors the rest of the way open hard and pretended to burst into the room.

“Exactly _what_ is going on here?” he drawled lazily, walking his way into the parlor to stop near Narcissa who was standing in a pool of blood and guts. Her eyes widened at his voice and glanced over to him, he could see her calculating in the split second that it took for Bellatrix to turn and face him.

“What are _you_ doing here!” she screeched, stomping toward him. A large welt was forming on the center of her forehead, but it was hardly anything compared to the fact that she was missing her left eye. Blood was trailing down her face, dripping down her neck and dropping across the floor as she raised her finger and pointed it in Snape’s face.

 _Apparently, she has also lost her wand_ , Snape thought as he turned to her and opened his mouth to respond.

“I summoned him,” it was Narcissa that spoke, and he had to fight to stop his eyebrow from arching. He hadn’t been expecting anyone to provide a reasonable alibi for him. He had been fully intending to lie his way out of this.

“You _what_?” Bellatrix’s voice was a low hiss as she turned her only remaining eye on her sister. “I _told_ you not to summon the traitor!”

“I’m aware,” Narcissa arched a brow, standing taller and eyeing her sister evenly. “But I thought he might be able to help with the identification – he would have seen Potter _more_ times than Draco while teaching at the school. I asked him to come as quickly as he could.”

“Though it would seem,” Snape said slowly, allowing his eyes to move over the room before looking back to Bellatrix with an empty expression. “That I was not quick enough – I would have thought that you would be capable of holding a _boy_ and a few of his friends – are you truly that incompetent? Or were you drawing things out and using them as _toys_ again? It has been made _abundantly_ clear that _he_ is our top priority above everything else – and that we are to turn him over to the Dark Lord when he is found.

“How you could not identify him when his face has been plastered across every city for the last year is beyond me – perhaps your memory has been damaged after what happened the last time you had _guests_ show up – so let me remind you, Bellatrix. It was the Dark Lord’s request that I be called for verification should you ever find yourself in another position where you are unsure. Or should I summon him now and ask him to reconfirm his orders?”

It was perfect, he hadn’t even needed to lie. The Dark Lord had not _ordered_ that he be called but he had _suggested_ it in a dead and sarcastic tone while Bellatrix had laid panting in agony on the floor two weeks ago – which was essentially the same thing as it being an order. The Dark Lord would interpret his own words however best suited him at the time and since Narcissa had claimed to summon him no one would question his presence – or her motives. Bellatrix would quickly forget any doubt she had as her mind latched to anger. He watched as her single remaining eye lit with rage and her body twitched, she made to move toward Snape before Narcissa interjected and stepped toward her.

“Bellatrix, we need to tend to your eye,” Narcissa said softly, stepping between the two.

The only remaining question was why – had Narcissa lied for her own safety, claiming that she’d done the right thing in hopes of avoiding the inevitable recourse of losing captives. Or was there something else going on? He watched as the blonde forced the crazed one-eyed witch away, leading her across the room. It would be impossible to tell unless Narcissa _decided_ to tell him as she was skilled in occlumency and could hide her thoughts. For now, he would say nothing, and he would allow the lie to slip easily between them.

His eyes darted to Draco, who was leaning against the wall by the door looking like he might be sick. Very similarly to how his father looked leaning against the mantle of the fire. They’d never had strong stomachs. The both of them had joined the Dark Lord for the wrong reasons – they weren’t fighters at heart. Ignorant and prejudiced yes – but they weren’t killers.

He flicked his wand and vanished the severed body of the snatcher from the ground before turning on his heel and making his way across the room, following several feet behind Narcissa.

“Next time,” he said as he passed Lucius. “Call me sooner.”

-x-x-

(to be continued…)

**Next chapter will be POSTED SOON, I split this only because it was too long for one post. I’m editing the second half and it should be up tonight.


	43. Chapter Forty-Three: Severus Snape - Part Three (part2/2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Today we circle back to my most favourite, bitter and snarky man – the one and only Professor Snape. We need to catch him up to speed with the rest of the characters, so we’ll be flashing over few months.  
> Part Two (chapter got too big)  
> 2\. If you’re not interested in Snape’s POV – *SORRY* – but this chapter does cover main plot related stuff so I recommend that you read it.  
> 3\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.  
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

This chapter, along with all future Snape POV chapters, is dedicated to **FluffyPandaShip**. You are my comment buddy for life and you hold a special place in my heart <3 you Fluffy

**Aani – *WARNING* (as requested) don’t read this in public or you will make faces at your phone. I <3 you**

**_March 1998_ **

**_Cokeworth_ **

“Narcissa,” Snape said evenly, not a trace of emotion lacing his voice as he opened the door to find Mrs. Malfoy standing on his porch in the rain. “I trust that you’ve brought the ingredients.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice steady and even. “And I have been instructed to pick up whatever potions you have completed.”

“Very well,” Snape held the door open to her and stood aside, allowing the witch into his home and closing the door behind her.

He followed her into his front sitting room, stopping in the large doorframe and watching as she made her way over to his mantle. She rested her hand on its surface before she turned back to look at him, her face was equally blank, but he knew that she was here for more than just their potions and ingredients exchange. She had, after all, sent him an owl that morning asking to move their meeting up by a week. She’d stated in her letter it was due to the Dark Lord’s demands having caused her to run low on several key substances – he knew better. He knew _exactly_ how much she had left in her stores and it was more than enough. He knew this was about what had happened two days ago at the Manor. He’d been expecting this.

“Have the conditions changed since the last time we spoke?” she said vaguely, her voice steady. She appeared to be strictly business and her body language seemed poised and put together.

“No,” he said slowly. He knew that she was talking about the wards. His wards. She wanted to know if his house was still secure and if they were able to talk freely. They could. Maintaining the integrity of the wards on his home was something he’d invested a great deal of time on. “The conditions have not changed.”

At his response her calm demeanor cracked, she raised both hands to her face, taking in a ragged breath before she pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long heavy exhale. Snape stood unmoving in the doorframe, watching her every move, taking in the stress lines that appeared around her eyes as she let her façade and glamourss fall.

“I have something for you,” she said after she’d been quiet for a moment. Reaching into her robes she pulled out a wand, one that wasn’t hers, and she held it out to him.

“A wand?” he questioned slowly, finally pushing off the doorframe and moving across the room to take it from her. “I thought you were to deliver powdered bicorn horn and shredded boomslang – the ingredients required to brew a fresh batch of veritaserum as per your owl. Please do tell me – what am I to do with a _wand_?”

“If you are what some say you are – you will know exactly what to do with it.”

Snape had been twisting the wand between his fingers, trying to determine if it looked familiar. It did – sort of – but he hadn’t been able to put his finger on it though. His thought process and movements froze at Narcissa’s words. He raised his eyes from the wand, narrowing them as he fixed her with a serious stare. Her eyes were glassy, she looked almost ready to burst into tears yet she stood tall and held her head proudly. The nervous tremble of her jaw was almost invisible. Almost.

“What,” he paused, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper as he closed the space between them. “Are you implying?”

“It’s _her_ wand,” she said, refusing to step back away from him. She met his eyes firmly and searched his face.

He arched his brow at her in question and she swallowed hard before taking another breath.

“It’s _Hermione_ _Granger’s_ wand.”

Snape could actually feel his heart stutter in his chest as he stared at the woman before him intensely. Why did she have Granger’s wand? Why hadn’t she turned it in? And more importantly, why the fuck was she giving it to him? Did she believe Bellatrix’s whisperings about him being a traitor? Did she know that he was a spy? Had she suspected that his loyalties lay elsewhere and he was in contact with the Order? And better yet – if she did – why the fuck had she kept it quiet?

“And why do you have her wand – why was it not turned over to the Dark Lord?” he asked impassively, keeping his face emotionless as his brain continued to race.

“When Bellatrix found the Sword of Gryffindor, she disarmed everyone in the room and threw a fit, the girl’s wand landed near my feet so I picked it up,” Narcissa said quietly. “Though with all the confusion and yelling, no one saw me take it. They’ve assumed that she must have retrieved it before leaving the Manor so no one knows that it is unaccounted for.”

He stared at her, his back rigid like a board and his face indifferent. She knew it was Potter and Granger at the house yet she’d lied. She’d said she wasn’t sure. Snape felt like the world was shifting under his feet, the situation was changing, the conditions were changing – Dumbledore’s plan was nothing but a collection of broken ideas. Things were growing out of control around him.

“So _why_ – are you giving it – to me?” he took another step closer, intending to intimidate her into breaking if she was trying to set him up. He eyed her carefully as she continued to hold her ground and watch him for any reaction. He wouldn’t give her one, he wouldn’t give her anything.

Then Narcissa closed her eyes, a single tear escaped from the corner of her lashes before she quickly wiped it away and pushed her chin high. Clearing her throat in determination and keeping her voice as calm as she possibly could, though it wavered slightly with the emotion she was trying to control.

“She was tortured in the middle of my parlor for almost an hour, Severus. Until blood poured out her throat – until it was dripping from her nose as Bellatrix beat her head into the floor and hit her with six rounds of the _cruciatus_ – until my sister became _so_ frustrated that she mutilated the girl’s body with her blade and yet that girl _still_ refused to give up any information. She nearly went insane Severus, she was pushed so far that she started laughing and she _cursed_ our home without even realizing that she’d done it – her blood stain _permanently_ marks that floor, it _cannot_ be removed,” Narcissa took a shuddered breath before she continued in a broken voice. “And now it lays next to the one made by my _son._ My _son _Severus! Last night – the Dark Lord came to the Manor, he found out what’d happened and demanded answers. I watched my _son_ be tortured by the Dark Lord in the same cursed spot on the parlor floor – all because Draco could not or would not recall if the boy was Potter. I can hear his screams every time I close my eyes – they’re tangled with hers now and I can’t even tell them apart anymore. It will haunt me until the day I die Severus – I’ve _failed_ as a mother!

“You have long since known that my loyalties lay with my family – I do not _care_ who wins this war. I do not _care_ if you are a spy, or a Death Eater, or just a man motivated purely by self-interest – I _don’t_ care! I only want my _son_ to be safe and I trust _you_ with that. It is the only thing that matters to me and you have proven time and time again that you will do whatever it takes to protect him, so I _trust_ you. I trust you to do whatever is necessary – far more than I trust _Lucius_ to make any rational or well thought out decision – he’s become a broken man and he stands by and watches as our house and family are ripped to shreds.”

Narcissa took a deep breath and Snape saw her eyes harden.

“I will _not _allow _my_ son to be punished, or to bear the burden of _his_ choices! When I married him I did not sign up to watch as _children_ are starved in my basement as prisoners and tortured and mutilated on my floor! I never asked for any of this!” she looked fierce as her back straightened and she looked at him steadily. Her eyes tracing over his face before she continued in a calm cool voice. “So, even though I know it is unfair of me after what you did for my family last year – I ask you for one last favour. _Please_ – take her wand and do whatever it is you know will be best. And if you need anything that I am capable of giving you – tell me, and you shall have it. But _do not_ tell me what you do with it, I _don’t_ want to know. I just want that demon _out_ of my _house_ so that my son will be safe once more.”

Snape’s mind was racing. The odds of Narcissa trying to set him up or frame him against the Dark Lord were so low they were next to impossible. Narcissa had never cared about the war, she had never cared about the Dark Lord, never wanted the ‘ _prestige’_ that came from serving him and she never fell victim to the offers he promised. She was, and had always been, loyal _only_ to her son. Ever since the Dark Lord had forced the dark mark on Draco as punishment for his father’s failings, and then assigned him the impossible task of killing Albus Dumbledore – Narcissa had lost any small shred of allegiance she had to the Dark Lord and the pureblood ways. Every conversation, every piece of information she’d passed to him, every move she’d made quietly in the background suddenly seemed even more calculated and purposeful than he’d originally thought.

She’d allowed herself to take the role of a respected and powerful supporter in order to protect her son because her husband had failed at the task.

All the while she had fed him information, _key_ information that wasn’t always apparent to Severus in the hopes that he might know what to do with it – because, for whatever reason, she trusted him. She wanted the war over. She wanted it done. She wanted the Dark Lord out of her house and she wanted her son to be safe and she was trusting Snape to pick the _right_ side. All things considered – she was really the one at risk in this conversation. He could take the wand and turn her over to the Dark Lord and announce her treason. He was an accomplished occlumens who could modify memories to present false ones while she could only shield hers. If she were ever questioned under veritaserum she would be the one held at fault because _she_ was the one who had announced her intentions. He had remained motionless and cold, taking in everything that she gave him and filing it away with no reaction. He would not appear at fault in any way so long as he gave no indication of his intentions. Besides – he was immune to veritaserum, and she knew this. She’d seen him lie in front of the Dark Lord after being forced to drink it in the past, though she’d never commented on it.

She was truly putting herself out on a limb, trusting him fully – blindly. She was desperate. He did not doubt her words in the least: she did not care. She was done and she wanted out.

Snape let out a long breath and pocketed Granger’s wand.

“I’ll get you the potions that are prepared,” he turned on his heel, making his way out of the sitting room toward the kitchen table where he had left the bag of prepared potions.

Collecting the items, he brought them back to the sitting room and exchanged bags with the one Narcissa had pulled from her robes. As he took the small package that contained his new potion ingredients from her hands, he could not help but feel like the motion was symbolic. She was giving him her trust. She was literally, placing her life and the life of her son in his hands. He watched her recast her glamours without a single movement, and as she headed back out into the rain he felt a heaviness settle over his heart.

Why was it, that he had so many lives depending on him? He wasn’t a good person, he was hardly even trustworthy he was just good at keeping secrets – but those weren’t the same fucking thing.

And yet, it had happened again, he’d added another life to his pocket. Another desperate soul that was depending on him to somehow _fix_ things. He sighed and dropped his head against the wall. Things had once again, somehow, grown more complicated than ever.

Unable to ignore the odd feel of Granger’s wand in his pocket he pushed away from the dull paint and apparated to the Headmaster’s office.

“Phineas,” Severus asked as he walked toward his desk.

“Yes Severus?”

“Where are they?”

“They are at some place called Shell Cottage – it is, I believe, a safe house for the Order.”

Snape nodded. He leaned against the edge of the desk deep in thought as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew that Dumbledore was likely to forbid him to go there and return the wand – it was risky. It wasn’t like he could just walk up and return the wand or leave it nearby and hope that they found it. Using his patronus again would also be risky – he didn’t trust that they would follow it so blindly this time or that he wouldn’t get discovered in the process. Besides he had no idea where the cottage was and the place would be heavily warded. Dumbledore would never tell him the location, he’d have to find another way to locate it.

He sighed and opened his eyes, fixing Phineas with a blank expression.

“How is Granger?” his voice sounded almost as tired as he felt.

“Hermione is okay,” Phineas said slowly, his face tight. “I believe I heard someone mention that she was stiff and sore but she seems to be moving around already – she’s trembling though, suffering from continuous vibrations and her left arm – it is completely limp. She is unable to move it at all and – and I think it is getting to her.”

He let out a deep sigh.

Of course it was fucking getting to her. She’d been tortured and carved up by a madwoman – after hearing Narcissa’s words it had made him realize how incredible it was that she wasn’t fucking dead. Now she had to live with and endure the aftereffects of the _cruciatus_ and a cursed fucking dagger. She would lose the arm. She should have lost it already. Phineas had given him the gorier details regarding her healing the day before after listening in to the conversation Potter had had with Fleur while Granger slept. He dropped his head into his hands and closed his eyes. Everything was falling apart – Potter and Granger were in shambles, they’d made no progress on the Horcruxes, the Dark Lord was growing more powerful, the werewolf army was growing in count and the only information he had on them was from what Phineas had managed to gather and now Narcissa was giving him Granger’s wand and asking him to save her family.

“What a fucking nightmare,” he breathed into his hands and then turned his head to Dumbledore. “Was _this_ part of your plan? Was _this_ how Weasley was going to help them get back on track? Because so far it seems that his greatest accomplishment had been getting Granger mutilated and nearly getting them all killed.”

Dumbledore stared at him harshly but said nothing, his jaw was clenched tight.

“I’m going to bed,” Snape said quietly, feeling like his energy had been instantaneously drained from his body. It registered in the back of his mind that he had not eaten in two days but he brushed off the thought as he stood and made his way to his quarters. “Phineas – keep me updated. I want to know how Granger progresses and if we hear anything else from the Order, we still don’t know who their legilimens is.”

“Of course Severus,” Phineas nodded grimly, moving himself back into his opposite frame.

-x-x-

**Hogwarts**

A sharp pinging sound rang in his head and Snape groaned. He’d skipped breakfast at the Great Hall in order to sleep in – after all he’d been up more than half the night before brewing new batches of potions and trying to come up with a plan for returning Granger’s wand. Though a good deal of his time trying to come up with a plan had been spent staring at the wand as it laid on his private potions work bench. He knew that the Order was meeting Wednesday night, he knew that Granger had requested assistance with her arm and the tremors, and he’d prepared potions that could help – yet he had no way of getting them to her.

He’d spent the majority of the night stirring mindlessly and groaning in frustration as he wracked his brain for an idea. The only one he had been able to come up with was Weasley – he would have to go get Weasley, drag her to his office and somehow shove veritaserum down her throat. He would have to wipe her memories afterward and even then it was risky. But she was the only one he had access to that knew where Shell Cottage was. There was no other option.

Though now with Phineas calling him he felt the ever-familiar dread of _new_ news filling his heart. Every time the chime went off he prepared himself for the worst. It was like every day something else went wrong or someone else dumped a surprise in his lap. Today it was probably that Granger had lost her arm – it had probably turned black from the curse and they’d all freaked out. Perhaps she’d finally broken and had a mental breakdown. Perhaps the safe house had been compromised. Perhaps one of them had died – Merlin only knew but he’d come to expect the worst every time.

He hauled himself from bed, ignoring the fact that it was now past noon and he was still exhausted. He stumbled over to his chair, grabbing the white dress shirt that hung off the back and sliding it on before he moved into his office. He’d passed out in his black trousers. Evidently he’d been incapable of taking anything else off before sleep took him.

“What?” the word was raspy as he made his way through the door to his desk in sock feet. Leaning against the edge of it as he started to button his white shirt.

“Potter nearly killed Weasley,” Phineas said quickly, his face looking incredibly tense.

“Hn,” Snape barely acknowledged it before replying sarcastically. “Please tell me you called me in here for something else besides idle gossip – or did Potter maim the boy so badly they’ve had to move locations and have single handedly dismantled the Order?”

“No – he just beat the crap out of him,” Phineas said, ignoring the noise that came from Dumbledore at his words. “And then tethered the boy’s body to the cottage so he’ll split into nine pieces if he apparates away.”

Snape’s hands paused over his buttons, his sleepy eyes slowly moving up to meet Phineas’. “That’s certainly creative.”

“It was kinder than the Weasley boy deserved,” Phineas sniffed. “But no – I called you in here for another reason.”

“What?” Snape had returned to his buttons.

“I found out who the legilimens is – the one helping the Order,” Phineas paused, his face growing nervous once more. “It’s Nasir.”

Snape’s motions froze once more. Though this time his entire body grew tense. His hands lingered over his middle button as he felt his heart rate increase.

“You’re sure?” Snape asked quietly, still unmoving, his eyes fixed on Phineas.

“Positive,” Phineas practically whispered.

Snape slowly stood from his desk, his hand running through his hair as he began to pace before the portraits, his shirt still half open.

Of course it was Nasir, how else could the Order have obtained the information that they did on the den. It all made sense – he had just not considered it as a legitimate option because he’d never thought the man would agree to help. And he’d never thought that Shacklebolt would be stupid enough to enlist the man. Even though Shacklebolt did not know what he was it was impossible to ignore the unease that settled across the room whenever Nasir was present, the man made people uneasy for a reason and people naturally did not trust him – because you could feel that something was off. How fucking desperate were they?

“He’s coming to Shell Cottage tomorrow night to inspect Hermione’s injuries,” Phineas added when Snape had been quiet for several minutes, his feet still carrying him across the ground.

“What?!” Snape snapped, his feet bringing him back before the portrait. “Shacklebolt is allowing _him_ to meet them?”

“He might be able to help Hermione,” Phineas said uneasily.

“Of course he _might_ – it’s not a matter of skill, it’s a matter of what he _decides_ to do when he gets there that’s the problem,” Snape bit out leaning back against his desk once more and gripping the edges tightly.

 _Fuck this is bad – this could end poorly_ , he could feel his brain swimming as his mind tumbled through the endless possibilities and scenarios.

He clenched his jaw. It was impossible to know what might happen – but knowing that Nasir was going to Shell Cottage did, at the very least, open up an opportunity for him to do something. He might be able to spin this in their favour. He might be able to get Granger the potions that she needed and her wand. He felt his mind slow as he fit the pieces together and tried to remain calm. He could find Nasir – he didn’t know where the man was staying but he did know that he would be staking out the werewolf den – and thanks to Granger he knew exactly where that was. He could meet him. He could ask him for help – Nasir _could_ help, it was just a matter of whether or not he _wanted_ to.

He felt his chest tighten.

Dumbledore must have seen his train of thought forming across his face for his voice cut across the room tightly.

“Severus – absolutely not!”

“Albus,” Snape groaned, turning his head to meet the dead Headmaster. “He is meeting them tomorrow night anyways.”

“Yes – and so the appropriate next step would be to prevent that!” Dumbledore looked agitated as he pushed his half-moon spectacles up his nose. “Not to encourage it. You need to find a way to keep that _man_ away from them.”

“And how do you suggest I do that Albus?!” Snape said angrily, moving toward the old man. There was no winning in this situation. “Want me to just send an owl to Kingsley or Arthur and tell them to disengage – should I tell them what he is? Should I say I’m still on their side while I’m at it? They’ve already engaged him in their efforts to dismantle the werewolf den – he is _already_ involved. I can’t undo what they have done but I _can_ try to make the most of it – I can try to get him to help!”

“Severus,” Dumbledore’s voice was sharp and his eyes glinted harsh like daggers. “He is a _Revenant_ – he will not _help_ you!”

“I know _exactly_ what he is!” Snape said tightly, clenching his fists to hide the fear that shook in his hands.

He was perfectly well aware of what a Revenant was and how they came into existence. While many of the faculties of the Unspeakables were still unknown to him, Snape knew more than the average person from his work as a spy. He knew that the Unspeakables were divided into smaller sub-sections of highly skilled people: some dealt with prophecies, some were responsible for curse breaking and managing deeply dark objects, some completed questionably ethical studies in healing, some tinkered with time and some were assassins and spies who completed the dirty work in the background. Then there were the Revenants, a group of hand selected Unspeakables from different sub-sections who were asked to partake in an experiment – an experiment so illegal, so dangerous and so morally wrong that all records of it had been wiped clean from the Ministry. It was deemed a failure and anyone involved in it wanted to wash their hands of it. There were only a handful of people left alive who knew what had happened. The result was the Revenants. And Nasir was the only remaining one, he was the last of his kind.

“Then you know that we must not engage with him Severus, he must not become interested in Harry or Hermione or it could ruin everything!” Dumbledore looked like he wanted to crawl out of his portrait and shake the statement into him. “You must find a way to stop them from meeting – he _cannot_ be trusted!”

“Why?” Snape sneered darkly, eyeing the elderly man with annoyance. He could feel his frustrations growing. Yes he feared Nasir, but he feared Nasir because he respected what he was – not because he blindly hated what the man _was_ as it appeared Dumbledore did. “Because he didn’t listen to you? Because he didn’t become what you wanted? Because he saw through your lies and manipulation and refused to be a pawn in your master plan?”

Snape closed the distance to the portrait and glared at the old man.

“I am perfectly well aware that he cannot be trusted – I _know_ what he is, I _know_ what they did – but Revenants are not inherently _evil_ Albus! They are at best – by definition, _neutral_ and at worst _chaotically neutral_ – he’s not out to get us, Nasir doesn’t have a side!”

“Exactly!” Dumbledore bellowed. “He is _impossible_ to predict; he will not assist the Order because it is the _right_ thing to do! You cannot appeal to his humanity because he doesn’t have any! He has no capacity to feel or to distinguish the difference between good and evil – right or wrong – he simply acts according to his own free will or whatever other secret desires he has hidden away! He is barely human Severus! He has no morality – no compassion – and he cannot be _controlled_!”

Snape went rigid and his eyes grew dark with hate.

“That’s all it’s ever been about with you – isn’t it? If you cannot control it than it must be evil – it must be stamped out. When really – I’d hardly say Nasir is much different from you – both of you have always followed the beat of your own drum regardless of the bodies that fell at your feet as you carved your way through the world. The only difference is that you feel righteous while you do it because in that old rattled brain of yours you’ve convinced yourself that you’re doing it for the _right_ reasons,” Snape’s voice was a low dark whisper as he clenched his fists tightly at his side. “Whether you trust him or not doesn’t matter – the Order has enlisted his help and he is meeting Potter and the Granger girl tomorrow – he is the _only_ person alive aside from myself who can save her arm, and I am the _only_ one alive who can provide him with the potions to do so and the only one capable of healing cellular level nerve damage!”

Snape stepped away from the portrait and grabbed his frockcoat from his chair.

“If Granger remains a jittering gimp Potter will die, Albus,” Snape said tightly. “I _will_ find Nasir – I _will_ give him those potions and I _will_ give him Granger’s wand. And if I have to – I will _beg _him to help me and offer him anything he wants!”

Snape turned on his heel and retreated to his quarters, moving directly to his secret potions cabinet behind the wall next to his bed and pulling out several vials of black liquid. Without being able to assess the girl himself he had no idea how bad her tremors were or how much she would need – so he just grabbed five bottles and then picked up a large vial of bright orange liquid. His hands shook as he moved, carefully packing everything into the pockets of his frockcoat and ignoring the fear that was growing in the back of his mind.

He stood by everything that he had said to Dumbledore – but he was still afraid. He did not know if Nasir would choose to help him, walk away indifferently or simply kill him on spot for the hell of it. Nasir was the only other human on Earth that he feared besides the Dark Lord. If their encounter turned into an altercation he did not have a _zero_ percent chance of surviving – but he didn’t have a surefire high one either.

The man was dangerous, he’d experimented in magic and things that should not be touched by any living creature and he undoubtably had an arsenal of unknown and deadly spells. The single time Snape had met the man the hair on the back of his neck had stood up and he’d been uncomfortable the entire time. Shacklebolt – the moronic idiot – seemed to trust the man implicitly because he’d saved his neck. Had Shacklebolt know what Nasir was, Snape doubted that the unshakable trust would have been so _unshakable._ Regardless though he had held his tongue and taught the man legilimency. It hadn’t taken long – as an accomplished occlumens Nasir had understood the concept quickly and picked up the technique in a single evening. They never met again after that and Nasir disappeared to Bulgaria.

Yet Snape knew all about Nasir, and he suspected that Nasir knew all about him too.

He removed Granger’s wand from the secret cabinet and then closed and warded the door, sliding the unfamiliar tool into his pocket. He forced himself to stand and buttoned the rest of his shirt before pulling on his robes and dragonhide boots. He doubted that the Dark Lord would call him tonight after the events at the Manor this week so he would leave now and get into position. Though he suspected that he would not run into Nasir until after dark – for that would be when the man would be lurking around the den, observing and collecting information. In hindsight it felt so obvious now – of course it had been Nasir who had gotten the information. It could not have been anyone else.

He summoned several healing potions, wound cleaner, dittany, and his experimental potions. If he got caught in a battle he wanted to be prepared. Then he made his way back out into his office and gave Phineas instructions to continue watching Potter and Granger. He ignored Dumbledore as the old man yelled at him to stop. Then he cast a heavy disillusionment charm on himself and disapparated to Birmingham, landing a safe distance away from the den.

It took him over an hour to make his way through the trees, moving slowly and sending out detection spells to ensure that he was alone. He didn’t stop until he’d found a small dense section of trees to the West of the den’s location and then he settled in next to a large thick oak. He would wait until dusk and then cast a calling charm. Nasir would seek him out – because only two people in the world knew about his Animagus form, and the other one of them was dead.

-x-x-

The man appeared twenty minutes after the charm had been set. Snape saw the unmistakable small black bat sweep from the trees more gracefully than a leaf on the wind, swooping down to the ground several feet before him before shifting into the tall, tanned, ominous figure. He was wearing all black, his dark hair was messy from his flight and his piercing eyes were locked directly on Snape’s invisible form. It was a good sign. He hadn’t attacked him outright which meant that he was willing to talk, or at least curious to know why he’d been called.

“Severus,” the even rich baritone filled the darkening night air as he took three steps forward, stopping short of the large oak tree and watching as Snape removed his disillusionment charm to reveal himself. “It’s been a long time – I admit that I never anticipated you calling me, especially now.”

Everything about him looked so human and yet he was so far from it. You could see it when you looked in his eyes though, you could feel it in the way the air changed around him. It felt unnatural – because he _was_ unnatural. He’d been to the other side and returned, which was something that no human was meant to do. They’d used the veil in the department of mysteries, they sent in 21 people and only 5 had come back – they’d done it because they’d wanted to know what was on the other side, to know what death was like. The answer – it was otherworldly, it changed people.

The basis of the experiment was to find a way to detach people from worldly things and emotions so that they could use them to do unspeakable things without dealing with the consequences. It had worked – but the results had not been what they’d intended. The Revenants were living yes, they could think and reason and logic just the same – they could die. But their humanity was gone. They were much more akin to soulless shells than real people. Dumbledore was not wrong in his description – Nasir did not _feel_. Nasir had no side. Nasir was unpredictable because he was truly impartial. He was void of the capacity to be compassionate. He appeared distant and indifferent because he _was_ those things – he was utterly and entirely neutral.

He operated according to his own desires and nothing else – and his desires were not established based on typical needs most people understood. As far as Snape could wrap his head around it, Nasir seemed interested in things that were _interesting._ Hence why many of them had dabbled into immensely dangerous and dark magic upon their return, because the consequences no longer mattered to them and they wanted to know what would happen. It was almost like they hungered for knowledge or thirsted to see how far they could push themselves, simply for the sake of doing it.

It was impossible to control them because they just didn’t care about the Ministry’s priorities or what was best for the wizarding world. And that was why Nasir was the last one alive – the Ministry had ordered them dead decades ago after one of them had started experimenting on human simply to see what would happen, because she’d wanted to.

His only hope was to try and engage the man’s interest – yet not get him _too_ interested, and then offer him anything that he wanted.

“Nasir,” Snape said, keeping his tone even and his hands visible as he stepped away from the tree and stood just a few feet before the dark man. “You could say that I’m a bit surprised myself, though – it seems that I’ve found myself in a bit of a unique position.”

“And what position would that be?” Nasir asked, his eyes watching Snape’s face closely. His expression was blank and indifferent, he seemed completely impartial to the conversation.

Snape swallowed – he would need to change that.

“It has come to my attention that you are meeting with the Order tomorrow night,” Snape said. “To assess some injuries.”

Nasir said nothing, he only stared at him, so Snape continued.

“I have some potions that will assist with that,” Snape said calmly. “And I need to request a favour.”

“A favour,” Nasir said slowly, taking another step forward. “What sort of favour could you possibly need me for – are you not well established within the Dark Lord’s ranks? Surely he would be able to grant you what you need.”

“I need you to heal the girl,” Snape said evenly, keeping his eyes fixed to Nasir’s “I will give you the potions required to do it, and I need you to return her wand.”

“Why?” Nasir asked smoothly, taking another small step closer. Snape could see a small glint in his eyes and he felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle. It seemed he had caught the man’s interest.

“Because she is suffering from _cruciatus_ tremors and about to lose her left arm from cursed deep tissue damage – if she is not healed then Potter will fail in his mission and the Dark Lord will succeed,” Snape said evenly, watching Nasir’s incredibly still frame.

“I gathered that,” Nasir said. He was eyeing him with interest and it only made Snape’s internal discomfort grow. “I meant why do _you_ want me to heal them – I thought you were working for the Dark Lord Severus.”

“Things are not always how they appear,” Snape said calmly. He refused to let any of his fear or anxiety show on his face.

“Evidently,” Nasir’s rich voice had dropped a fraction. “Did you get cold feet?”

“I was _never_ on the Dark Lord’s side,” Snape said, feeling his jaw tighten a fraction as he spoke. “I’ve simply been waiting for the right moment to play my cards.”

“I see,” Nasir nodded once before he cocked his head slightly to the side. “Then this _was_ a plan by Albus all along – wasn’t it? And you are still firmly planted in his pocket. I never took you to be a lap dog Severus – why are you changing out one master for another?”

Snape’s back stiffened and he saw a darkness creep over Nasir’s eyes. He was interested, and he was baiting him.

“Albus is _not_ my master,” Snape said slowly, his voice dark and stiff. “If he was – I would not be here, and _you_ know that. Albus does not trust you.”

“Rightfully so.”

“Will you heal the girl and return her wand?”

“You still have not answered my question,” Nasir’s voice lowered, and he took another step forward. “Why do _you_ want me to?”

Snape felt his muscles tighten. It was a question that he wasn’t even sure how to answer, why did he want the girl healed? The obvious answer was so Potter could succeed, but even then, why did he care so much? Was it because he wanted the Dark Lord to fail? Was it because he wanted to prove Albus wrong and show the old bastard that his plan had failed? Or was it because deep down he was hoping to save his own soul and right the damage he had caused in the past? Was he hoping for forgiveness so he could die with some ounce of peace?

The silence extended between them as Nasir waited for his response, the wind blowing the trees above them gently as the last light of evening began to fade away. Whatever his answer he needed to cater it to the man before him, but he also needed to be somewhat honest – Nasir would know if he was lying, Revenants could always tell.

“They deserve a chance to have a life outside of war,” Snape said slowly, watching Nasir’s face carefully as he spoke. “They are – _fascinating_ – despite the fact that I cannot stand either one of them and it pains me to admit it – they do show potential. Given the chance – they could become something _more_. Possibly something great. The Dark Lord is an abomination who will do nothing but destroy the wizarding world and the knowledge within it, and while you may not care about such things – I do. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life Nasir; I don’t want to make another one. I would like to see the Dark Lord fail before I inevitably die at the end of this war – and in order to do that I need Granger functional and healed so she can help Potter.”

Nasir was staring at him intently, his eyes dark and shinning in the night. Snape fought the urge to shiver under his gaze and waited. He looked like he was calculating, like he was making a decision.

“I would need nerve regeneration potions,” Nasir said slowly, breaking the silence as his eyes flicked to Snape’s pocket.

“I’ve brought that.”

“I would also need dittany and the experimental healing potion you created for connective tissues.”

“I brought that as well.”

“I won’t know if it is possible to heal her until I assess the damage.”

“I know.”

Nasir went quiet once more, looking at him carefully.

“Why should I?” Nasir said quietly, his eyes moving slowly over Snape’s face, taking in every single detail. “I have no stake in this blood feud – I told Albus that long ago, surely he told you I have no interest in his schemes or the battles of men.”

“Because I think you will find them interesting,” Snape said quietly. “I think you will find that _they_ are worth saving. They’ve been through more than most have in a lifetime – they’re not who they used to be – or who you would expect them to be. If you do this for me Nasir, I will give you whatever you want – please.”

“I didn’t think that you had much left to give Severus,” Nasir said evenly, though his eyes still shone with dark interest. “I will take the potions and her wand. And if they are as _fascinating_ as you make them out to be – I will heal her.”

Nasir outstretched his hand between them.

“What do you want in return?” Snape asked as he carefully pulled out the bottles and wand and passed them over to Nasir.

“I haven’t decided yet,” his eyes were dark as he spoke.

Cold fear ran through Snape’s body as he watched the man tuck the items into his robes. He felt like he’d just sold the last pieces of his soul to the devil himself.

-x-x-

With all the crazy things going on in the world right now – stay safe my friends <3 <3

Know that you are loved.


	44. Chapter Forty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. And then it all comes together. H&H, the Order, the revenant, the goblin and the old man. Holy heck, this was a bustling chapter to write. Everyone is stuck at the cottage in preparation for the attack on the Birmingham den and H&H go have some conversations.  
> Dang this one was tough to balance :S though it should answer some questions on the sword and plot and what people are up to.  
> (Part 1/2 of a chapter sliced in half)  
> 2\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.  
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

**Realized that I had one small inconsistency in Chapter 42 from Snape’s POV so I updated and corrected it :) I thought I had it in there but I guess I must have fucked it up while I was editing, anyways – it was supposed to mention that Snape saw Griphook with Harry before they escaped the Manor. It’s like... five words added in, so not a large change and you don’t need to go back to see it :P**

**Anyways… moving on!**

“Bye,” Harry felt himself let out a sigh as Arthur and Nasir disapparated before him.

It had been a long day – hell, it had been a long year, but he didn’t think he’d felt the exhaustion in his bones quite as badly as he had over the last few days. Malfoy Manor, Ron, healing and dealing with Hermione’s injuries – it was taking a toll on his body and mind in a way that he wasn’t sure he could quantify. His heart weighed heavy in his chest. Holding Hermione still while Nasir had carved a blade into her flesh was something that he _never_ wanted to do again. _EVER_. So despite the exhaustion that riddled his body he’d never felt more motivated in his life.

After everything that they’d been through, everything they’d learned, mastered – after all the growth it still wasn’t enough. Though now he realized what it was they’d been missing. They’d been missing a teacher. A _real_ teacher. Someone who wasn’t afraid to show them what they _needed_ , not some idealized version of an education that would only be applicable for an everyday life in a calm world. Hogwarts had not prepared them. It had not taught them how to live through a war – how to fight, how to protect themselves, or how to survive alone.

Remus had done the best that he could in third year to teach them and Moody had done a pretty okay job too. Though technically, that had been an education from a fanatic and crazed Death Eater – which ironically, had proven to be more beneficial and educational than the typical curriculum provided by Hogwarts would have been. Fifth year with Umbridge had been a fucking disaster, a joke that had left students completely unprepared and at risk. And sixth year with Snape, while Harry was begrudging to admit it, had also been on the more helpful side compared to other years. Yet even still – there was a huge gap in their knowledge base when it came to _real_ life. Hogwarts had done nothing to prepare them for the true horrors of war.

It wasn’t like he didn’t understand _why_ the education was the way it was – of course no one _wanted_ to teach kids how to blow someone up, and had there been no war ongoing then the education would have been perfectly adequate. But there was a war ongoing. Dumbledore had _known_ that there was a war coming, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a tightness in his chest when he thought about it. It was similar to how he’d felt when he learned about Dumbledore’s past. It was shattering. It hurt.

What had the man been thinking? Had he thought things would be over by now? Had he misjudged just how bad things would get? How could Dumbledore have left them so fucking unprepared?

Harry wanted to trust Dumbledore and he still did in a lot of ways. He trusted that Dumbledore wanted them to be successful. He trusted that Dumbledore truly did want the war to end – that he truly did want to stop Voldemort. He trusted that Dumbledore had good _intentions_ – it was just that as more and more time went on and Harry saw more and more things, he had started to severely doubt Dumbledore’s _execution_.

Surely the man himself could have told them about the Deathly Hallows. Surely Dumbledore could have taught them how to defend themselves. Surely he could have done _something_ to point them in the right direction – he hadn’t needed to send them on a bloody wild goose chase. One that had nearly resulted in their death innumerable times, in them being attacked day and night – in one that left Hermione having to choose between scarring her soul or having her arm.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth that was hard to swallow.

The thought sent waves of anger through his body any time it entered his head. Hermione had suffered too much. It had all been too much – it wasn’t fair. He _knew_ that life wasn’t fair, he’d grown up in a damn cupboard for Merlin’s sake. He was well aware that things were unfair, but this was getting to be absurd.

The Hallows talked about Death being _alive,_ like it was a spirit, almost like it was a physical entity – well if _life_ was the same and Harry ever got the chance to meet it he was going to punch it in the fucking face and make it beg for mercy. If he ever got the chance to speak to Dumbledore’s portrait again there would be questions and he would not leave until he had answers – and if he found out that Dumbledore had so much as an inkling of an understanding of what his ‘ _secret_ _mission’_ was going to put Hermione through, Merlin help him, Harry would burn his portrait off the fucking wall.

Yet at least now – despite everything, he _finally_ – really – truly – honestly felt like they might stand a chance in this war. And it was because of Nasir.

Because of a man that everyone else seemed to fear. Because this strange, unnatural, calm, unnerving and impassive man seemed willing to show them what they really needed to know. In a span of six hours he had single handedly proven to be the most effective teacher Harry had ever had. They knew a medical charm that could save their lives. They could clear their minds now, gain control and sleep without terror. He’d taught them where to jab a knife if they’d ever found themselves without a wand and unable to cast magic – and then he had _given_ them knives.

Two. One dagger each, to be kept on their persons at all times, disillusioned and strapped to their legs. They’d looked expensive to say the least – and old. Possibly ancient. They were silver with a black handle and the handle was carved with runes and odd markings. It felt strange to accept them. Harry suspected that they’d belonged to someone else at one point and they seemed to match with the one that he carried – the one that he had used to carve the rune into Hermione’s chest. Which made Harry wonder where Nasir had gotten them from in the first place or why he had _three_ of them – though neither he nor Hermion asked the question. They were already confident that they knew the answer.

It was because Nasir had killed whoever owned them last.

Yet refusing seemed out of the question. Nasir was too impassive, too indifferent. He’d offered them and he did not seem to comprehend their hesitation with accepting them – especially since he said the blade was multifunctional (as proven by the rune carving) and that they could learn to use it for _many_ things. It was _practical_ to accept and thus, they’d accepted because it didn’t seem like Nasir would understand their rejection.

Nasir had taught them specifically where to aim a _diffindo_ to render someone useless – _without_ killing them. And he’d started to teach them something dangerous, something that they were not to practice without him being there – otherwise they’d risk killing everyone within the wards and destroying one of the Order’s last remaining safe houses.

In six hours, Harry had never felt more sure in his life – and he’d also never felt more unsure.

He still had no idea _why_ Nasir was helping them or why he was with the Order. Everything about the man, including the reactions of the other Order members, sent warning signals off in Harry’s brain telling him that something about Nasir wasn’t _right_. Yet despite this, Harry found that he couldn’t help but trust the man. Not explicitly – he actually wouldn’t even be surprised if Nasir _did_ decide to kill them someday, but he trusted him inherently. It was odd. He found that he respected Nasir for whatever it was that the man was _and_ he feared him.

What Harry trusted was that Nasir would teach them and help them so long as he wanted to. He couldn’t really explain it, he just knew that at this point in time – they were safe with him.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and turned back to face Hermione. She needed to drink her nerve regeneration potion and then go to sleep; she needed her rest. Yet as he saw her his face faltered. She was standing next to the cottage staring wide-eyed and open mouthed at the place that Arthur and Nasir had just left. Her hand was shaking but it wasn’t from the tremors, it was only her hand and she was holding a – wand?

“Hermi–“ he started only to get cut off immediately as her eyes flashed to him and her voice rang out. She’d pushed herself off the wall of the cottage and was quickly closing the distance between them. He felt her silencing ward settle around them so thick he could hardly breath.

“Harry – the map,” Hermione’s voice was sharp and tight. “Get the map – The Marauder’s Map – Harry NOW!”

“What?” Harry’s face contorted in confusion, but he quickly opened her purse and summoned out the map. He shut the purse tightly, and then tried to open the folded paper as Hermione’s hand shot out toward it. “Hermione – is that your wand? Where did you get it?!”

She completely ignored him, her eyes searching the map urgently as her single functional hand grabbed the paper despite still holding her wand. Her movements were desperate and rough, and from the glint in her eyes and the look on her face Harry knew it was serious. She looked shocked, almost afraid – unsure. Her emotions were flicking faster than he could keep up.

“Hermione – _what_ happened? Where did you get your wand?”

“He’s still alive,” she said in disbelief. Her hand was clutching the paper tightly and her eyes had locked to the black footprints that paced in a small line at the top right hand corner of the map.

“Snape?” Harry could hear the confusion in his voice as his brow furrowed. “Of course he’s still alive – Hermione what the fuck is going on?”

Hermione was shaking her head, she seemed unable to process whatever had happened. She looked up to him slowly, her jaw clenching before she spoke.

“Harry, I need you to tell me _exactly_ what happened the night that Professor Snape killed Dumbledore.”

“What?” now he was incredibly confused. “Hermione I already told you what happened we –“

“No Harry – you don’t understand,” Hermione dropped her hold on the map and moved closer to him, her voice dropping unnecessarily lower as she began to speak rapidly. “Do you remember how I spent last summer before we came to get you from your Aunt and Uncle’s? I was at the Burrow – we were planning your extraction and I used to attend all the Order meetings. I spent a lot of time with Alastor Moody because the only thing that Ron had wanted to do was play Quidditch outside of the meetings.

“I’d seen Moody tinkering with some artifacts in the kitchen the one day, he was charming them for Arthur. That’s why he ended up giving me the box – because I’d spent time with him, I’d _worked_ with him. But before he gave me the box he taught me about trace charms Harry. That’s where I learned the one I placed on Ron before we went to Xenophilius’. Though I didn’t learn to master the charms until later in the summer so I had _him_ put one on my wand – he told me it would be a good idea, he had one on his wand too. It’s undetectable Harry and it records who touches my wand. Since last summer I have a full record of everyone who has handled my wand – _Nasir_ returned _my_ wand to me while you were talking to Arthur.”

“You mean he went over to you – he was _with_ you – I didn’t even –“ Harry’s eyes grew wider with understanding. “He cast a masking charm and I didn’t even know it; I didn’t know he’d stepped away – how long was he with you?”

“Not more than a minute but Harry that doesn’t even matter,” Hermione said tightly. “Harry – the _last_ person to touch my wand before Nasir was Professor Snape.”

Harry felt his body grow stiff and he suddenly understood exactly why Hermione needed to see the map. She’d needed to know if Nasir had killed him.

“How did Professor Snape kill Dumbledore, Harry?” Hermione said quietly, her eyes locked to his face.

-x-x-

“Hermione, I’ve already told you – that’s all I remember,” Harry stifled a groan and dropped his head into his hands.

They’d been over it half a dozen times and Hermione had _finally_ dropped Snape’s old title. Harry had started to relay the events of the Astronomy Tower to Hermione as they’d made their way from the cottage over the sand dunes to set up their tent. She’d drank her nerve regeneration potion quickly and they were now sitting across the table from one another, tea steaming from the mugs before them. It was getting late, Harry could see the exhaustion in Hermione’s body, her tremors had gotten worse and yet she outright refused to drink her Dreamless sleep potion and go to bed. He knew from what Nasir had told him while she’d been asleep and propped against the man’s side that he was going to have to up her dose and leave her sleeping even longer tonight to make up for the exhaustion.

“I know it’s just – it doesn’t make any fucking sense,” Hermione was leaning on her good arm and biting her lip as thoughts raced behind her eyes.

Harry had to agree with her. They both thought that it was incredibly odd to consider that Nasir would have taken the wand from Snape _without_ killing him. It didn’t seem like something that Snape would give up without a fight and they didn’t doubt Nasir’s capacity to kill him – the man was clearly capable of it. It didn’t make any sense why he wouldn’t have done it.

“Maybe he stole it from him?” Harry said exhaustedly, picking up his tea and taking a long drink.

“Why? And better yet, how?” Hermione looked to him desperately. “ _How_ would Nasir have even known that he had it? How would he have known that it was _mine_. Harry, Nasir doesn’t know that we aren’t using _our_ wands – we never told him that we’re using ones we’ve taken from other people. Strange as the man may be there is no way he would have known that _this_ was _my_ wand.”

“What did he say when you asked him again?” Harry’s head was hurting from everything going on and he was beginning to find it difficult to concentrate. They needed to go to sleep.

“He said: ‘ _does it matter?’_ and then he walked away,” Hermione repeated for the sixth time.

She didn’t even sound frustrated at him for asking again. They were both at such a loss that they just kept repeating the small amounts of information that they had while hoping to draw new conclusions from it.

“And I doubt – _if_ we see him again – that he’ll tell me anything else. I get the distinct impression that Nasir only does what _Nasir_ wants to do,” Hermione sighed as she continued. “I can try to push him but he’s not going to say anything that he doesn’t want to. If he’s decided it doesn’t matter than he won’t say anything, and Harry – I don’t want to find out what happens when you push him too far. He answered all my questions after he fixed my arm and he answered our questions at training – so it’s not like he _won’t_ answer our questions at all he just only answers the ones that he wants to. Harry – maybe him and Snape are friends.”

Harry frowned at the thought. She sounded like Hagrid – like she thought that a dragon or a three headed dog could have _friends_. The idea of Snape being friends with _anyone_ was about as absurd an idea as they came, and it was a testament to just how outrageously tired they both were that they were even identifying it as an option.

“Hermione – no fucking way – _Snape_?” Harry shook his head at the idea. “The guy is a dick and he keeps to himself. He barely even spoke to or interacted with the other professors at the school, I can’t see him having _friends_.”

“Ugh I know,” she groaned and dropped her head to the table before raising it once more and looking at him with tired bleary eyes. “But they _did_ know each other Harry, Arthur said that Shacklebolt said that Snape _taught_ Nasir legilimency. Look I _know_ that you hate the man – I _know_ that it’s hard for you to think of him as anything other than how you see him right now, but we need to consider the possibility that they are working together. _How_ could Nasir have gotten the wand otherwise?”

“He could have taken it.”

“We’ve already been over that – Nasir wouldn’t have known it was my wand. Besides, how would he have gotten into the school? Why would he even go there? Why wouldn’t he kill Snape – you think he just broke into the school, robbed the place and happened across my wand?”

“No,” Harry said tightly. He knew she was right, but her idea didn’t make much sense either. “So, you think that _Snape_ knew that it was your wand? How the hell would _he_ know it was _yours_ and better yet – why did _Narcissa Malfoy_ give it to him? Or did he take it from her?”

That was the other piece of this puzzle that they didn’t know the answer to. The wand had transferred from them to the snatchers, then to Narcissa, then to Snape, then to Nasir. The chain didn’t make any sense – aside from Narcissa. At least she had been in the bloody room at the Manor so her touching it had a _rational_ explanation behind it that could be understood.

“Besides,” Harry continued. “ _If_ Nasir was helping Snape, he would be helping _you know who_ – so why would he have given you the wand or helped us? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Hermione stared at him for a long moment until her face started to twist into one of deep thought. “He wouldn’t be – Harry I don’t think Nasir is working for _you know who –_ I – I’m not entirely convinced that he even has a _side_ in this war.”

“Then it makes even less sense that he’s working with Snape,” Harry said flatly.

“No,” Hermione said slowly as she pulled herself upright. “Harry – what if Snape doesn’t have a side either? What if they’re both just in it for themselves?”

“Hermione,” Harry’s voice had grown wary. “If that were the case then I’d argue that we are even more fucked – but Snape killed Dumbledore. I was _there_ , I saw it happen and then he left _with_ the Death Eaters. He’s one of them.”

“You said that Dumbledore said _please_.”

“Yes – he said: ‘ _Severus please’_ and it sounded like he was begging for his life.”

“What did Snape’s face look like?”

“Angry – full of hatred,” Harry felt his shoulders dropping. They’d been down this road before too, but he answered her just the same.

“But Harry,” Hermione said slowly, her brow furrowing as a brand-new batch of thoughts came from her mouth. “You – you said that he ran past Neville and didn’t kill him. He left him there and then he didn’t kill you when you followed him out onto the lawn. You were there completely defenseless; I don’t want to be insulting Harry – but it would have been incredibly easy for him to take you then. He _could_ have killed you; he could have captured you – back then we had _no_ idea what we were doing. We were incredibly vulnerable – so why didn’t he?”

Harry clenched his jaw tight. If he had to be honest, and he hated being honest when it came to Snape, he had wondered that too when they’d retraced the events of that night. It _didn’t_ make any sense.

Snape had parried all his attacks, not bothering to launch any of his own all while Harry had attempted to pelt him with an endless stream of mediocre hexes. Then after Harry had called him a coward the man had exploded with angry rage like nothing Harry had ever seen before. It had been completely out of character for him – it was wild and anguished and livid, nothing at all like his typical emotionless and cold demeanor.

Then, against all odds, Snape had left him there. At the time Harry had assumed that it was because Buckbeak had defended him and scared the wizard off. Now though, after learning the true power of _Sectumsempra_ – which was a spell that _Snape_ had _invented_ and thus was no doubt a master of – he realized how utterly absurd the idea was. Snape, had he wanted too, could have gutted the hippogriff with a flick of his finger. Yet he hadn’t.

So why?

It hurt him to think about it. It complicated their already complicated situation in ways that Harry wasn’t sure he was capable of dealing with. He fucking hated that man – more than anyone else and he wasn’t sure how to rationalize even the _possibility_ of Snape being anything other than what he’d thought he was for the last seven years of his life. The thought made him nauseous and anxious.

“I don’t know,” Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “It doesn’t make any sense, Hermione.”

“Exactly,” Hermione’s expression softened and she reached across the table to his hand. Harry took her hand and gripped it firmly, the motion was instinctive like breathing and it calmed the mess of thoughts clouding his head. “Harry, I know that you hate that man – and I’m not saying that you shouldn’t. I’m not even saying that he might be helping us – I’m just saying that clearly there is more to this war, something else is going on right now – and we don’t have all the information. We don’t know Nasir’s intentions and clearly, we don’t fully understand Snape’s either. Before we left the Manor – I saw someone come through those doors. I didn’t see their face and I don’t remember much of it now – but whoever it was, was tall and dressed in all black. It could have been Snape Harry, him being there would explain him having my wand.”

“Yes but it doesn’t explain why Nasir had it – which I doubt we will ever fucking get an answer to,” Harry said in frustration. He gripped Hermione’s hand tightly, clasping it between both of his and smoothing his thumb along the top of her hand. She was trembling too much. He needed to get her to bed. At the end of the day the reasons almost didn’t matter anymore, they just needed to know what to do going forward. Harry took a long silent breath and met her eyes. “Hermione, what do you want to do?”

“I want to go to bed,” Hermione gave him a weak smile as a soft puff of air came from her chest and he couldn’t help but grin tiredly at her. “I – I think we should try to keep an open mind. We need to be prepared – for anything, so I don’t want to rule anything out. _If_ we ever run into Snape – we hold off on killing him and instead we question him and get answers. I know it’s hard for you to consider Harry but it’s possible that he’s not working for _you know who_ – he could still be helping us. Think of all the times he saved your neck in school, albeit he _was_ a complete asshole about it. But we also don’t know that for sure either – even _if_ he isn’t working for _you know you_ that doesn’t necessarily make him our _ally._ He could be a threat all on his own – he could be working with Nasir and the two of them could be up to something. The truth is we don’t know, and we won’t know unless we _ask_ him given the chance. And at the end of this, I want answers. In the meantime – I still want to train with Nasir. Maybe it’s risky, I know it probably sounds stupid but – what he is teaching us is _invaluable_ Harry and I want him to come back and teach us more before the infiltration – before Gringotts.”

Harry took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “I agree.”

He’d been planning to kill Snape given the chance. He’d told Hermione and she’d agreed – it hadn’t been a plan per se but they’d both acknowledged that given the opportunity in battle they would take him out. Now the plan had changed – if given the chance they would capture Snape much like they’d done with the snatcher from the alley and they would get answers.

It physically pained him to consider the possibility of Snape being anything other than a cowardly dick, yet he couldn’t deny the flaws in the logic that surrounded that belief. Seven months ago, Harry would have told Hermione she was insane. He would have pitched a fit in anger and point blank refused to even consider the possibility that Snape could be anything other than a Death Eater, a traitor, a murderer, an evil horrible man who had tormented him throughout his childhood.

But Harry wasn’t the same person that he’d been seven months ago – _he_ was a murderer himself. He understood that the line was blurred, that life and magic and sides were complicated. That the idea of good vs evil was a childish and stupid concept. That you couldn’t make wide generalizations in the way that he’d made them so easily in the past.

Harry had killed people, and he planned to do it again – as many times as necessary in order to accomplish his task. Heck he was willing to kill Ron if it meant succeeding despite the fact that he knew it would hurt the Weasley family. He’d held Hermione still, the person that he cared for more than anything else in the entire world, so her body could be mutilated – on purpose. Because it had been required to heal her previous injuries. He knew damn well what it felt like to toe the line between good and evil – to question if what he was doing was _right_ but then choosing to do it anyways because it was _required_. He knew that life was not black and white in the slightest – so they could not move forward based on old assumptions they’d made in the past.

And the truth was – everything they thought they knew was riddled in holes.

All of it.

As if having his confidence in Dumbledore shaken wasn’t enough, he’d had his confidence in the Order’s capability shaken, followed quickly by his understanding of the world. It had been shaken so badly it was warped, broken and then remolded into something dark and tainted. And now – it was happening again with Snape. The man he hated.

He sighed. When had he become so rational? Sometimes he forgot how different he was, to him the changes had been gradual – he knew they’d happened, but he’d not really thought on them too much. He typically didn’t unless something earth shattering like this happened that forced him to look at his old thoughts or opinions and realize how much they differed from the logic he used now. It gave him a better appreciation for the surprised way that the other Order members had looked at him and Hermione.

He knew exactly what Hermione was thinking. He understood exactly what she was getting at and why she still wanted to train with Nasir – despite the obvious risk.

“The odds of Snape and Nasir working together _and_ working with _you know who_ are almost zero,” Harry said slowly, running his thumb over the back of Hermione’s hand. “Otherwise Nasir would _not_ have taught us what he did. It’s far more likely that Nasir either got the wand on his own or Snape gave it to him and they’re working together – though whether or not that means that _they_ are fully allies or are allies with us I don’t know. But – I can’t see that Nasir would have shown us what he did today if he was planning on killing us anytime soon. Despite how crazy it sounds – I agree with you. I think that _not_ learning from him puts us at even more risk. We – we need to take what we can get at this point, and then just be prepared for the realistic situation where Nasir tries to kill us later.”

Hermione smiled at him, her lips laced with exhaustion and strain. “Let’s send Arthur a note – see if he can arrange for Nasir to come by this week again – as much as possible. I don’t want to wait until next Saturday to learn.”

-x-x-

After crawling through the limited details that they knew about Snape and Nasir, Hermione had finally agreed to drink her Dreamless sleep potion and pass out provided that Harry contacted Arthur. When she woken late Saturday afternoon she was surprised to hear that not only had Nasir _agreed_ to teach them every afternoon starting Monday for the entire week leading up to the final Order meeting, but that some of the Order members would be popping by in the evenings after 7:00 pm if they could to practice the shield charm and get additional training from Harry. Harry had arranged it all that morning while she’d been sleeping by his side completely unaware of anything around her.

Arthur had agreed to drop Nasir off every day at noon, which would give them six hours each day before dinner and before the Order members came by to learn whatever it was he planned to teach them. They weren’t stupid though – despite how badly they wanted to threaten the man into telling them how and why he had her wand they knew if they pushed too hard he could disappear – taking their chance to learn right with him. So, she and Harry had agreed Saturday night to only bring the topic up with Nasir one more time and then they would let it drop if he refused to answer. They would then take anything that he would give them and prepare for the worst.

Sunday morning Harry had untethered her arm for the first time in three days and she’d been able to _use_ it.

Not just lift it. Not wiggle it. Not make it flap around or twitch a finger.

 _Use_ it.

She had been able to move it fully, albeit stiffly, and she could even pick up a cup of tea and drink it or hold other small objects provided that they weren’t too heavy. It was exactly as Nasir had said. Her arm was _functional_ – _fully_ functional – but she dared not do anything aside from normal day to day tasks with it.

After breaking down into tears and crying in Harry’s arms for over an hour Sunday morning she’d babied it for the rest of the day – watching memorized as she’d lifted her hand before her face, moving her fingers and making a fist. She planned to continue to baby it for the remainder of the week. There was no way after everything she’d been through that she’d allow anything to happen to it. So, despite it not being required she planned to continue tethering her arm at night for the rest of the week.

She’d spent the rest of Sunday curled into Harry’s side on the bed researching the runes that Harry had asked her about. Which had proved to be a bit difficult considering that she couldn’t stop smiling at Harry. She kept touching him, kissing him, running her left hand through his hair – reveling at the touch and feel of him and tracing his skin with her fingers. She never wanted to stop touching him. She couldn’t wait until her arm was fully healed and she could truly put it to the test. Though somehow, despite the distraction, she’d made good progress and she had a pretty good idea of what she needed to do to implement it.

That night, after drinking her final nerve regeneration potion her body had stopped trembling in its entirety. She had the distinct impression from the feel that sat heavy in her muscles that the tremors would return if she allowed herself to grow too exhausted but otherwise the repair had been beyond anything she could have ever imagined. She would be down to sleeping only 10 hours a night with the Dreamless sleep potion starting Monday and for the first time in a very long time she felt _good_.

Really good.

When they woke Monday morning Harry had kissed her deeply, unlocking her arm from her side so she could run her hands through his hair once more and pull him closer. Then they’d excitedly dragged themselves from bed, showered, eaten and gone outside to start training per the routine they’d discussed Saturday night. She’d left the tent with her arm tethered firmly at her side – in her signature ninety-degree angle, fully expecting to see Luna and Fleur waiting by the cottage for them. Harry had told her during breakfast that Fleur had stopped by Sunday morning while she had still been sleeping to talk to him and drop off some food. The woman had expressed interest in joining them in their training routine and she’d asked Harry if it would be alright for her and Luna to follow along the next time they went out.

Harry had agreed and told her that they’d be starting fresh Monday morning per their typical routine – modified for Hermione’s arm but still just as intense as usual. Fleur had promised that they would stay out of the way and not interrupt – they planned to simply follow them in their routine as best as they could, but she’d been adamant about not receiving ‘ _training’_ from them. Training would be reserved to evenings after 7pm so that she or the other Order members did not disrupt Hermione or Harry’s progress.

What Hermione had not been expecting to see Monday morning was Dean and _Ronald_ standing somewhat nervously near the two girls. Hermione had frozen mid step and glared at the redhead, her body rigid with a combination of hatred and disgust. Evidently Harry had not been expecting it either because he’d come to stand next to her stiffly and eyed the group with equal disdain. What was odd, was Ron’s reaction. His jaw had clenched, he’d grown visibly stiff but yet he’d looked almost embarrassed. Then he’d averted his eyes but he didn’t move from his place next to Dean. Luna had been the one to run over to them in excitement, Fleur trailing closely behind the girl.

After speaking with them quietly for a moment they’d agreed to continue with the original plan provided that Ron did not come anywhere near them and kept his mouth shut. Fleur assured them it would not be an issue and then they’d set off. Hermione had run her laps with a newfound energy – keeping up with Harry and not giving a rat’s ass about the diagnostic charm that chased after her and displayed her vitals. She knew that Harry was just being careful, and she was simply too overjoyed with the return of her arm and the disappearance of her tremors to care. She even refused to let Ron ruin her day.

She was free.

Free of the curse that limited and crippled her body. Free from the pain and the tremors that coursed through her and made her incompetent. She was weaker than she’d been before the torture, but she _felt_ strong. She _would_ be strong. She would be _more_. She would push herself and push herself until she became so strong that nothing like what had happened _ever_ happened again. So that she could stay with Harry and keep him safe.

So that they would succeed.

She and Harry were back on track. Tonight, after dinner they would speak to Griphook and Mr. Ollivander about the wands, the Hallows and breaking into Gringotts. They needed to know if Mr. Ollivander thought a wand like what Xenophilius had told them about existed. They needed to convince Griphook to help them. They would teach shielding to any Order members that showed up and then they’d continue to execute their extensive training plan. The following Monday they would dismantle the werewolf den with the Order and then they would return one hundred percent of their focus and efforts to breaking into Gringotts and the Horcruxes.

She felt calm.

She felt steady.

They had a plan _and_ they had a teacher.

For the first time since they’d set out on this god awful journey she truly believed to her core that they could do this. They had a _real_ chance – it wasn’t just hope. It wasn’t just a dream or a wish.

They could do it.

The others had not been able to keep up with their laps, they’d stopped after two and then started completing their own exercises while Harry and her finished their run. Once completed, they took the high dune next to Luna’s group and started the remainder of their physical exercises. Hermione watched from the corner of her eye as the others mimicked their routine – and although they struggled, they tried and they worked really hard. Luna was doing particularly well, especially considering that Harry told her Arthur had delivered the news Saturday morning that they’d still not been able to locate Xenophilius’ body. It was clear that the girl had yet to lose hope. She believed that her father was alive somewhere and she’d been relentlessly helping Fleur and practicing on her own. And now that she had joined the _group_ and Hermione was healed she was pushing herself hard. She wanted to help them and she was willing to do whatever it took.

By 10 am everyone was covered in sweat and Dean had thrown up. He’d pushed himself too hard, he still wasn’t fully recovered from his stay at the Manor and so he sat the rest of the training out as Fleur monitored him with a diagnostic charm and made him drink water.

After a quick snack Hermione practiced her wordless spells with Harry in a circle drill and then they set up for target practice. If Ron noticed that they were still using his bright orange socks as _pigeons_ he didn’t say anything and simply continued to stick close with Fleur and Luna as they completed the drill themselves with a white sock that Fleur had summoned from the cottage.

While dangling the sock for Harry she noted that Luna had the best aim, Fleur was a close second and Ron missed almost 60% of the time. When it was her turn to go, she was thrilled to find that her aim was back to perfection – she hit the orange sock _every_ time. Her hand was steady as a rock as she hurled hex after hex at it with her _own_ wand. It felt so bloody perfect that her soul felt lighter and she could feel her magic surging through her body with ease. She’d forgotten how it felt to have something perfectly attuned to her to channel her magic through and it made her heart ache for Harry and the loss of his wand.

At the soonest opportunity available to them she would ensure that he got a new one – one that was perfect for him.

She hadn’t noticed that while she’d been hexing the bejesus out of Ron’s sock that the others had stopped and were watching. When she finally set it alight and Harry dowsed it out, she noticed. She’d turned to Harry and given him a small smile only to catch sight of four pairs of eyes watching her. She glanced toward them uncomfortably, finding that Luna looked smitten with an aloofness that only she could master, Fleur looked like she was beaming with pride, Dean looked terrified and Ron – well Ron’s face was a combination of shock, horror and awe.

It made her uncomfortable to be watched and she wasn’t sure how she felt about people knowing their skills. Yet she also knew that their training was important to the war and the others needed to learn if they were going to be successful. So, she bit back her reservations. She knew that no one posed a risk currently given that they were not allowed to leave the cottage – besides they had nowhere else to go. It wasn’t safe anywhere else. _And_ – if Shell Cottage fell to _you know who_ then she and Harry had bigger things to worry about than Death Eaters finding out that they were competent fighters.

At 11:15 am they said goodbye to Fleur and Luna before returning to the tent for lunch. After eating they changed into old clothes and made their way back outside. After how the last practice with Nasir had gone, Hermione didn’t intent to wear anything that she actually liked to practice again. Then they packed up their tent and made their way across the sand dunes toward the cottage once more to wait for the tall mysterious man to arrive.

(To be continued…)

-x-x-

**ALSO –** it’s official… I’m fucking incapable or writing an update less than 10k-12k words – so, the second part of this update will be posted soon.

Sorry.

Are my chapters too detailed? Is this like.. unbearable for some of you to read? I’m not sure why they always seen to grow but I swear I’m doing the best I can to flatten this out to only what’s necessary…

Anyways, get ready for another 2 parter :) <3

Love you


	45. Chapter Forty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. (Part 2/2 of a chapter sliced in half)  
> 2\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

“Hermione, I see that you can move your arm now,” Nasir said impassively after his eyes had flicked to her arm. They returned to her face rather quickly and then a slow glint began to form in his eyes. “Though something tells me – that is not what you would like to discuss.”

Hermione stood before the tall mysterious man holding her wand tightly. The wind had picked up and it blew over the sand dune with a low whistle, keeping their voices lower by carrying away half the sound. She’d untethered her arm to allow her muscles to stretch and Harry was standing supportively by her side. Mr. Weasley had just begrudgingly left – he seemed massively uncomfortable with leaving the man there with them unattended, but he had to return to work and Shacklebolt had given his okay on the agreed training regimen.

Hermione suspected that it made Shacklebolt feel like he was helping, like he was somehow now assisting with or was involved with their secret mission. So it was no surprise that he’d pushed Arthur to say yes to the agreement. Had Arthur not agreed to bring Nasir, Shacklebolt probably would have done it himself.

“You’re correct,” Hermione said slowly, watching the tanned man’s face carefully. She and Harry had discussed their approach through lunch and they both agreed that she should take the lead since Nasir had responded positively to her initial questions the first night in the cottage. “Though I suspect that you’re not going to tell me what I want to know anyways.”

Nasir continued to stare at her and said nothing so she continued.

“Where did you get my wand,” her voice was low.

“I believe you already know the answer to that,” he said indifferently though his eyes continued to glint. They seemed to do that when he was interested in something, when he was engaged. It made her nervous and it made him look even more dangerous than he already did.

Hermione swallowed, had he somehow detected the trace – even though it was undetectable? At this point she wouldn’t even be surprised. The more she learned about him, the more time she was exposed to him, the more she realized that he was full of unknowns and surprises.

“ _Why_ did you take it from him,” she said slowly, rephrasing her question. “How did you know it was mine?”

The glint in his eyes darkened and he took a small step forward, speaking his next words carefully in a low voice. “What difference would that make Hermione? You have your wand – and you are healed – it’s just a detail. The end result is the same either way.”

“Sometimes the details are what make all the difference,” Hermione looked up at him seriously, her eyes narrowed slightly. “They can alter the understanding of the outcome.”

“True,” he said quietly, his rich baritone vibrating between them. A dark smile had cracked across his lips and his eyes were watching her intently. He stood there silently. Just a foot away from her, watching her face but saying nothing further.

“You’re not going to tell me,” Hermione whispered, as she watched him.

He remained silent so she breathed out slowly, biting back her frustration as her hand tightened on her wand. His eyes flicked down to her hand and back to her gaze in one swift motion. Almost like he _knew_ what she was thinking, almost like he had expected her to react with force. The realization hit her quickly and it felt reminiscent of when he’d taught them the occlumency spell and he’d been waiting for her to figure out its true meaning. He expected her to get angry, he came here anticipating that she would push the topic and not let it go – and perhaps this was a test in and of itself. Perhaps he planned to kill them if they pushed. She didn’t know – but she was going to prove him wrong in his assumption. She and Harry had already agreed they would let it go and move forward. She smiled and shook her head, a small breath ghosting from her lips like a laugh. His head tilted at her reaction and the glint in his eyes grew.

“You don’t have a side – do you Nasir?” she held his gaze and kept the amused expression on her face.

Something shifted over his face and Hermione got the distinct impression that he was massively intrigued by her lack of action – possibly pleased. He stepped toward her in a slow fluid motion that made him look inhumane, leaving little more than an inch between them as he leaned down toward her. She could feel Harry stiffen at her side but as they’d already discussed – he refrained from moving. Harry trusted her and he would let her do this - he knew she could handle it. Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as her muscles tensed, but she held her place and didn’t move, keeping her head tilted up toward the man and her eyes locked to his burning ones. If this was a show down of her courage – she was not going to lose.

Not now.

Not ever.

She’d come too far.

“Tell me Hermione,” he said in a low dark whisper as he watched her face with such an intensity it almost made her skin crawl. “Is that a _detail_ that matters to _you_?”

His breath was _cold_ on her skin and she had to fight not to shiver before him. It made no sense given the warmth she knew radiated from his hands, yet it’d felt frigid like winter across her face. The air around them felt like it was laced with electricity. Her heart was pounding painfully – she felt like if he’d wanted to, he could have reached his hand _into_ her chest, _through_ her body and ripped out her soul. He was a monster of a different making all together – not human at all, and his allegiance was undefined.

It both terrified her and naturally… enthralled her.

She couldn’t help it.

She was curious.

She was _always_ curious. She been curious since the day she was born and would be until the day that she died. Regardless of the risk, she didn’t care who he was or what his deal was so long as he would help them, teach them – both she and Harry were aligned on that front, but for her it ran even deeper. It was _who_ she was deep in the very depths of her soul. Perhaps that truth made her a monster in her own right – that she was willing to look past the obvious death that radiated from the man before her, to ignore the warning signals that radiated through her body in order to learn. It wouldn’t be the first time that she’d done something questionable or unethical to gain knowledge or do the _right_ thing.

“No,” she said after a tense moment had passed between them. She felt her shoulders drop as she began to relax in his presence, the shift in her posture didn’t go unnoticed by him as his eyes slid to her shoulders then back to her gaze. “It doesn’t matter, I don’t care that you don’t have a side in this war – I only want to learn from you.”

“And what _else_ would you like to learn?” his smile had twitched slightly wider at her response and his voice was somehow lower.

“It’s the same as I told you before,” she whispered, as she swallowed with determination. “I will take anything you give me – I want to learn _anything_ that you’re willing to teach me.”

Nasir’s mouth opened into a full smile and Hermione felt like her heart had frozen within her chest. It was simultaneously the most fascinating, the most disturbing, the most surreal and the most memorizing thing she’d ever seen in her life.

“Good answer,” his cold dark voice rumbled only inches from her face. His eyes were moving over her like he was reading her and then he spoke slowly, the words almost inaudible against the wind. “You are _fascinating_ indeed, Hermione.”

He immediately stepped back and began walking toward the dune that they’d practiced on before without so much as a second glance their way.

Hermione swallowed hard, feeling all of the air leave her lungs as her legs shook beneath her. She wasn’t entirely sure she understood all of what had just happened, but it felt significant.

It felt like she’d just escaped certain death.

Like Nasir had just made some sort of decision.

She drew a trembling breath and looked to Harry and saw that all the colour had drained from his face. His eyes were watching Nasir as he moved away, his hand was gripping Malfoy’s wand tightly at his side, and then slowly he looked to her. They both nodded shakily, taking each other’s hand and following after Nasir. It gave her comfort to feel the same trembles running through his body that she felt in her own.

Nasir was terrifying in a way that her brain could not rationally explain, and yet they obediently followed him to their dune to practice controlling an impossible force.

-x-x-

Hermione limped toward the cottage, Harry on her right and Nasir on her left. Harry’s sweater was still smoking, and her pant leg was burned and trailing ash across the sand behind her. She’d pulled her quad diving out of the way when Harry had lost control momentarily before Nasir could put an end to things. She felt exhausted. _Everything_ hurt and the weight on her heart had returned like a steady little reminder of what she’d done and what she continued to dabble in. Her dinner plate was clutched loosely in her hand – Fleur had brought them food outside again, raising an eyebrow at the black soot that smeared her cheek, the blackened grass and the smoke that was radiating from the area. Yet she didn’t say anything. She simply handed them each a plate and returned to the cottage.

When they entered the small cottage, they brought their plates to the sink and ignored the curious looks that they received from Remus who had arrived early to discuss the werewolf safe house with Fleur. They thanked Fleur and Nasir and then made their way upstairs to the bedroom that Mr. Ollivander was staying in. Nasir remained in the kitchen with Fleur listening to the conversation and providing input only when asked specific questions. They’d told Fleur of their plans when she’d delivered the plates for dinner so when they knocked on closed wooden door a reply came quickly.

“Mr. Ollivander,” Harry said quietly as they stepped into the room and closed and warded the door. The old man was laying on a small twin bed near the window. He looked emaciated, the bones of his face sticking out sharply against yellowish skin. His great silver eyes seemed vast in their sunken sockets and the hand that was resting on top of his blankets looked like it could have belonged to a skeleton.

“Mr. Potter,” a smile graced the man’s lips. “My dear boy – I never thought that I’d see you again. Much less that you would rescue me from that horrid dungeon. Thank you, my boy.”

“It was nothing,” Harry said giving the man a tight smile and taking a seat on the chair near his bed. “Do you remember Hermione?”

“Yes, yes – of course,” the man smiled again. “I remember everyone I’ve ever sold a wand to. Vine wood, ten and three-quarter inches with a dragon heartstring. Miss Granger, it is very lovely to see you again.”

“It’s nice to see you too sir,” Hermione said in the friendliest voice she could manage. She stood beside Harry, leaning against his side. It was probably a good thing that they’d trained today and practiced with Nasir before speaking to anyone. It had helped to blow off any steam or lingering frustrations – so she was far better prepared to be social than the last time they’d come to the cottage. Though being inside it still made her uncomfortable.

“Mr. Ollivander,” Harry said slowly, watching the man carefully. “I need your help.”

“Yes – anything, anything – what do you need?” Mr. Ollivander looked sincere in his words and had shifted in his upright position away from the headboard to lean toward them.

“Are you able to mend this?” Harry pulled out the shattered remains of his wand from her purse and gently laid them on the man’s lap. Hermione watched as a sad look came across the elder man’s face and she felt the small hope she’d had flutter out.

“Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple – Mr. Potter – this was your wand,” he looked to Harry sadly.

“Yes,” Harry smiled tightly again. “Can you fix it?”

“No,” he whispered shaking his head as he bit his lip in despair. “I am sorry, very sorry but a wand that has suffered this degree of damage cannot be repaired by any means that I know of.”

“That’s okay sir,” Harry said kindly, quickly pulling the pieces from the devasted man’s lap. “Perhaps you can help me with something else. We found these wands and I was hoping that you would identify them – let us know if they are safe to use?”

“Yes of course,” Mr. Ollivander nodded, and his distress seemed to fade a little.

Harry pulled out Peter’s wand, Malfoy’s wand and Bellatrix’s wand – handing them over to the man to examine. He rolled them between his knobble-knuckle fingers, flexing them slightly before holding them up to his ear. Hermione had never understood wandlore but she’d seen him do it before, so she knew it was a technique of some kind and he wasn’t doing it because he was too rattled from his time spent in the dungeon.

“This one here,” he said holding up Bellatrix’s wand. “Walnut, dragon heartstring, twelve and three-quarter inches – unyielding. It _belongs_ to Bellatrix Lestrange. I caution you against using it – as it will be unforgiving.”

He picked up Malfoy’s wand next.

“Hawthorn and unicorn hair – ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This _was_ the wand of Draco Malfoy – though, then again. It might be yours,” he looked to Harry. “The manner in which you came across these matters – much also depends upon the wand itself but in general, if a wand has been won its allegiance may change.”

“So it’s safe for me to use it then?” Harry asked curiously.

“I think so, a conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master – of course with some exceptions,” Mr. Ollivander answered and pointed to Bellatrix’s wand. “The wand chooses the wizard Mr. Potter – that much has always been clear to those of us who study wandlore. Of course you can always channel your magic through almost any instrument, just that you will always have the best results when there is a strong affinity between the wand and the wizard. These connections can be quite complex. An initial attraction and then a mutual quest for experience. The wand learning from the wizard and the wizard from the wand.”

He then picked up Peter’s wand and turned it over with a look of pain in his eyes.

“Chestnut and dragon heartstring. Nine and one-quarter inches. Brittle. I was forced to make this wand shortly after my kidnapping for Peter Pettigrew. This one – if it was won as well, may be used. It will likely bend to your will.”

“Thank you,” Harry took the wands back from the man and handed them to Hermione. “There was something else Mr. Ollivander – a story I wanted to ask you about.”

“A story?” Mr. Ollivander looked at him curiously.

“Yes,” Harry said turning to face him seriously. “A story about a powerful wand, one that’s ownership is transferred only when the previous owner is defeated. Its allegiance can only be won through death and it is passed from hand to hand by murder.”

Hermione watched as Mr. Ollivander’s face paled and he looked at them both warily.

“You know of the wand – don’t you,” Harry said quietly, his low voice calm but laced with intensity. “ _You know who_ was interested in this story as well – and what I need to know is – whether or not the story is true. If the wand is real. He held you captive because he wanted to know how to overcome the connection of our wands.”

“Yes,” Mr. Ollivander breathed his face growing tight. “Harry – you must understand, he tortured me I –“

“You told him about the twin cores didn’t you – you told him to borrow another wizard’s wand but that didn’t work either,” Mr. Ollivander nodded almost painfully at Harry’s words. “And then – he asked you about this story, he asked you about the wand that can only be won through murder – what did you tell him and is it true?”

“Yes,” Mr. Ollivander sighed, his hand trembling on the blanket. “He – he’d wanted to know about the Deathstick – the Wand of Destruction – the Elder Wand. It has had many names over the years but there has only ever been one. The Dark Lord no longer seeks it _just_ for your destruction Harry – he is determined to possess it because he believes it will make him truly invulnerable.”

“And will it?” Harry asked.

“The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack, but the idea of the Dark Lord coming into possession of such a wand… is formidable I must admit.”

“So the wand truly exists?” Hermione found herself saying, a heavy stone sinking in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t even bring herself to doubt it anymore. Not after everything they’d been through – not after the rune, not after Nasir.

“Oh yes,” Mr. Ollivander nodded solemnly. “It is possible to trace its possession back throughout the ages, though there are some gaps as it vanishes temporarily from time to time. But to those who study wandlore its characteristics are unmistakable and we recognize it. I cannot say whether or not it must pass by _murder_ , but the wand _does_ exist. Immensely powerful, dangerous in the wrong hands and an object of fascination to those of us that study wands.”

“Mr. Ollivander,” Harry said quietly but firmly. “You told _you know who_ where to find it – didn’t you?”

“My boy you must understand – I was forced to – I was tortured with the _cruiciatus_ you don’t understand how –“

“We _understand_ ,” Hermione said tightly, stepping forward and her jaw clenching in anger. “We know _exactly_ what it’s like to be tortured but quite frankly Mr. Ollivander – I don’t care _why_ you told him. We just need to know _what_ you said.”

Mr. Ollivander swallowed hard and looked between them. “I told him Gregorovitch the wand maker had it – he was studying it of course. It was good for business you see but – but he didn’t have it, it had been–“

“Stolen,” Harry breathed. He turned to look at Hermione. She could see a realization dawning on his face. “It was stolen wasn’t it? By Grindelwald – the _thief_. That’s why he was so angry – the picture Hermione, you remember at Bathilda’s.”

“But Harry, Grindelwald was–“ Hermione stopped, her brain clicking in on the answer at the same moment that Harry’s had.

“Harry my boy – I am truly sor–“ Mr. Ollivander started but Harry ignored him and cut him off, standing abruptly from the chair.

“ _Rest_ Mr. Ollivander – thank you for your assistance with the wands,” Harry turned with Hermione and they quickly left the room.

Hermione followed Harry to the corner of the upstairs landing and cast a quick and heavy silencing charm around them. “Harry, _Dumbledore_ defeated Grindelwald.”

“I know,” Harry said quickly, running a hand through his hair as thoughts raced behind his eyes.

“How are you sure that Grindelwald took it – _anyone_ could have stolen it from Gregorovitch.”

“He called him a _thief_ Hermione,” Harry said shaking his head. “After Bathilda’s when I was unconscious my head was flooded with his memories. I saw his thoughts on Grindelwald – I just didn’t know what they were about, I didn’t know about the wand or the Hallows. Everything was a jumbled mess but it makes sense now. He knows – he knows Hermione, I can’t explain it, but I know that he knows.”

“Have you been letting him in again?” Hermione said quietly. She moved towards him and grabbed his arm gently. “You haven’t mentioned anything lately so I wasn’t sure if you’d seen anything else.”

“No – no, of course not, at least I don’t think so. I don’t know how effective my occlumency is since we’ve never been able to test it, but I haven’t seen anything. At least nothing consistent – not like before – just the odd image or two in my dreams,” Harry was looking at her tensely. “Hermione – trust me, he knows. He knew that Grindelwald had taken the wand – that I saw – and he knows that Dumbledore defeated him. With Snape at the school he has access – he would have turned the place upside down or raided his grave to find it. We just need to assume that he already has it.”

“So what do we do?” she said tightly. “If he has the Elder Wand and it is as Mr. Ollivander described than what are we supposed to do about it Harry?”

“Nothing,” Harry said shaking his head as his brow furrowed. “There is nothing that we can do. We just need to destroy the Horcruxes and then face him last. We just have to hope that we can defeat him – Dumbledore managed to defeat Grindelwald when he had the wand. It has passed hands for years from the sounds of it – it has to be possible to win. We just stick to the plan and we train harder.”

Hermione felt her jaw tighten. ‘ _Doing nothing_ ’ wasn’t exactly a plan, and it certainly did not settle her nerves or make the sinking feeling in her chest any lighter. Why was it that they couldn’t catch a fucking break? If finding the remaining Horcruxes wasn’t an impossible enough task on its own – they now had to be prepared to face Voldemort at the end when he was using an overpower _Deathstick_.

What the actual fuck had Dumbledore been thinking? If he’d _had_ the wand, why the hell had he not said anything to Harry about it?

A heavy look passed between them and she closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh, knowing that Harry was thinking the exact same thing. She felt his forehead press against hers and she slid her hand up his arm to grab the front of his crispy sweater tightly.

“Well then I hope Griphook will agree to help us. We need to figure out how to get into Bellatrix’s vault as soon as possible,” Hermione breathed against him. “Harry – I’m not sure that he will.”

“I know,” Harry sighed and she felt him move away and press his lips to her temple.

They’d spoken about it previously over the last few days, but they hadn’t spent much time on it with everything else going on. Hermione’s arm had taken top priority and then they’d quickly gotten caught up in the planning for the werewolf den infiltration. Aside from their earlier meetings with Bill, pouring over the documents that he’d given them and their initial research they’d not come up with any real tangible plan to break-in to Gringotts. They were hoping that Griphook might be able to help them with that but both she and Harry knew Goblins were immensely self-motivated – they did not particularly like wizards or any other species and after he’d been held captive by Death Eaters it was highly unlikely Griphook would volunteer himself to the task.

Harry had had to fill Hermione in on what’d happened after they’d arrived on the beach. Her memories of that day, while intact and sound, were spliced and laced with pain that she didn’t want to revisit. She knew that Harry had grabbed Griphook before darting to her – he’d saved the goblin’s life so perhaps the creature would have some small sense of obligation to help them. Griphook had been able to hang onto the sword through the apparition – and Fleur had taken it from him upon his arrival and returned it to Harry shortly after she’d passed out. It had been stowed back in her purse along with their remaining belongings, though Harry’s broken shard of glass, their tea pot and several of her books and other possessions remained at Malfoy Manor.

Though in the days that had immediately following after landing on the beach it had hardly felt like it’d mattered. She’d been broken. They’d had no other Horcruxes to destroy and they were barely holding things together. Now that she was healed, and now that they’d begun training with Nasir – she’d felt her spark of determination grow and she just hoped that they might be able to convince Griphook to lend them a hand.

A warm tingle shot through her body as Harry’s hand traced down her back. She didn’t know how she could do this without him, any of it. Every time he touched her it just made her realize more and more how much she loved him – it was like some intangible force that seemed to grow infinitely.

“We just have to find a way to convince him,” he said quietly before she dispelled her silencing charm.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him. Kissing him once firmly before moving toward the goblin’s room.

-x-x-

“Griphook,” Harry nodded at the small goblin as he entered the room. “I’m not sure if you remember me, but you–”

“I showed you to your vault the first time you ever entered Gringotts. Mr. Potter, even amongst goblins you are very famous,” Griphook nodded to him before his eyes flicked to Hermione. A strange expression crossed over his face and then his eyes returned to Harry.

“This is Hermione Granger,” Harry said turning to Hermione briefly. He wasn’t sure if Griphook knew who she was – or if he cared, but he did his best to remain polite and remember his manners. He hated being _inside_ this cottage and speaking to other people made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like being so enclosed, but it was something that he supposed he would have to start working on. They were planning on breaking into Gringotts after all and would be enclosed underground.

“Yes,” Griphook said slowly, his eyes flicking back to Hermione briefly before he shuffled a bit uncomfortably on the small bed. He looked toward the open window and then met their eyes once more. “You buried the elf.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a statement – but the goblin had looked at them curiously as he’d said it. Harry got the distinct impression that he was surprised by this fact. Which to Harry was odd, though he knew in the wizarding world it probably seemed like a strange thing to do.

“Yes,” Harry said, feeling his jaw tighten. He hadn’t allowed himself to think much on Dobby since burying him. “He was a friend of mine.”

“You are a very unusual wizard.”

“In what way?” Harry said flatly, moving to sit on the bed across from the goblin. Hermione followed him and sat by his side.

“You _dug_ the grave – by hand.”

“So?” Harry arched a brow at him and Griphook only stared. After a moment of silence passed between them Harry continued. “Griphook I need to ask you–“

“You also rescued a goblin,” Griphook said more quietly, this time. His intense little eyes were glued to Harry’s face and flicking over it like he was some sort of foreign specimen he was examining at the bank.

“Yes,” Harry said slowly, unsure of where this was going. He was aware that he didn’t fit the typical norms in regards to wizarding behaviour but he wasn’t sure what Griphook was getting at. Perhaps the goblin was just surprised that Harry had thought of him at all, and that thought was pretty sad. It was just yet another reason why they needed to end this war and dissolve the blood prejudices that haunted the wizarding world. “And I’m glad to see that you’re healing up well – Fleur told us that your leg has almost mended.”

“Yes,” the goblin said slowly, his eyes flicking between them once more.

“Griphook, I need to ask you for your help – Hermione and I need to break into Gringotts and I would like you to help us plan it.”

“You want me to help you _plan_ how to break-in to Gringotts,” Griphook’s voice had deadpanned and he was looking at them in disbelief.

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “You worked there. You know the bank better than anyone. I need to know if there is a way for us to get inside – there is a vault that we need to enter.”

“It is impossible to break into Gringotts.”

“That’s not true,” Harry shook his head. “There was a break-in when I was in my first year – the same day that I met you.”

Griphook’s eyes darkened and he seemed to be thinking over his next words. “What vault is it that you need to enter?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange’s,” Harry said calmly.

A sound almost like a strangled cough came from Griphook’s throat. “Impossible – that’s impossible, it cannot be done. _If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours_ –“

“I know the rhyme,” Harry cut him off and his shoulders stiffened. “I’m not _stealing_ anything for myself Griphook – regardless of whether or not you believe me, that’s the truth. We are in the middle of a _war_ , I’m not trying to _rob_ the bank – I don’t _need_ or _want_ any treasures. There is something in her vault that I need in order to _win_ this fight. It’s not a treasure that belongs to her and it’s not something that I plan to take for myself either.”

Griphook went silent again for a long moment before speaking. “If there was ever a wand-carrier to utter those words that I would believe – it would be you Mr. Potter.”

“Will you help us?” Harry asked him, his eyes watching the curious goblin closely.

“Maybe,” Griphook said tightly, his eyes flicking between them. “I don’t see what I have to gain from it.”

“You _don’t_ see what you have to _gain_ from it?” Hermione’s voice sounded darkly from his side. She was rigid in her seat and her eyes had become hard. “You don’t see how defeating _you know who_ would benefit you? How it would benefit _everyone_? He and the people who follow him are the strongest supporters for creating division between species – they’re so demented and so ignorant in their understanding of magic and the world that they’ve even started to segregate witches and wizards into categories. I’m a _mudblood_ – you saw _exactly_ what they think of me and those like me, Griphook – you know _exactly_ how bad this is going to get. If _you know who_ wins this war then your kind is only going to face further oppression and strife. The gap will widen.”

“And what about after?” Griphook turned to her. “Assuming that you and Mr. Potter are successful then what comes next? How quickly will my kind be once again forgotten – it may not get _worse,_ but it won’t get _better_ either. Witches and wizards have long since denied us privileges that you enjoy.”

“ _After_?” Hermione sat forward on the bed. “After this is over – _I_ will fight for you. _Harry_ will fight for you – _people – will_ fight for you, especially after seeing what you’ve done. What better way to prove to the wizarding world that they are an ignorant and archaic fools by showing them how _you_ helped to defeat one of the most terrifying wizards of all time. It is his weakness – it’s why _you know who_ will fail. He underestimates those he thinks are lesser than him and it’s why _we_ will win, but we need to work together. We _need_ your help. If it is short term _gains_ that you are looking for – fine, we’ll give you whatever _payment_ you think your time is worth. But if you’re looking for the world to change, then we need to act – we need to help make that happen.”

Griphook stared at her for a long quiet moment. Harry could see the thoughts racing behind his eyes before he spoke again quietly. “ _You_ are not like the other wizards either.”

“There are _many_ of us that are not like the _others_ ,” Harry said quietly. “We’re not all the same, we don’t all support what the wizards of the past have done. There are many who are eager for change, and I would like to get the chance to prove that to you – but in order to do that I need your help first.”

Silence rang throughout the room and Griphook’s eyes continued to stare at the two of them. As if he were sizing them up and weighing his options.

“Alright,” Griphook said slowly. “I’ll help you.”

-x-x-

Hermione followed Harry through the door and down the stairs to the kitchen, stopping dead in her tracks for the second time that day. The kitchen of the cottage was full – and _everyone_ turned to look at them when they’d entered the space between the living room and table.

Remus, Fleur and Nasir were still there, but they were now joined by Shacklebolt, Arthur, Bill, Luna, Dean, Ron and – _Mrs_. Weasley. Hermione saw Arthur grab the woman’s forearm gently as she made to move forward and she knew it was to stop her from cutting immediately across the room toward them. The distinct look of agitation in the woman’s eyes was obvious as she glared at her husband. Harry stood stiffly at her side as they both took in the hoard of people before them. She could feel her discomfort grow and her jaw start to clench, yet oddly she didn’t feel as stressed as she thought she would have.

“Hermione – Harry,” Arthur said with a strained smile as he stepped toward them. He’d gently patted his wife’s arm and cautiously made his way to stand but a foot before them, dropping his voice so only they would hear. “I hope you don’t mind – but we had some more interest in learning the shielding spell. I know this is a big ask – honestly, I was not expecting that _everyone_ would show up here tonight. I tried to convince Molly and a few others to wait but I’m afraid they’ve been rather insistent and refuse to leave. I will understand if you don’t want to teach so many people at once, but – we do need to learn. This – your help could make all the difference in the war going forward.”

Arthur looked at them both for a moment, a pained expression on his face. His eyes flicked over the black soot smudge on her cheek, the singed sweater Harry was wearing and the burnt pant leg of her jeans – but he said nothing. He simply bowed his head toward them and lowered his voice further.

“If you’re not okay with this – I _will_ send them home. We can arrange alternating nights – we can work something out so there are less people.”

Hermione’s eyes flicked to Harry at the same moment his moved to hers – a single breath passing between them before they both looked back to Arthur. It was like she could read his mind already, though soon enough it would be more literal. It would make things so much easier, so much safer, so much more sure. Though tonight, it was simple enough to know that his thoughts were the same as her own.

 _No_ she wasn’t okay with this. No she didn’t want to teach a group this large. No she was not comfortable with this – but that didn’t matter. Like everything else in this war, it _needed_ to be done. The more competent the Order was the more likely they were to be successful in the upcoming werewolf den infiltration. It would also make them better prepared for when the inevitable all-out war broke out. So far they’d been lucky and everything had been shadow work and secrecy – but the _war_ was coming. Both she and Harry could feel it growing like the pressure before a storm and it would be here soon enough.

Everyone in this room aside from themselves and Nasir were at risk – and she doubted that Nasir would follow them into battle. Which meant that everything would rely heavily on her and Harry, but she and Harry had their own mission. They could not protect everyone else. They could not protect the students of Hogwarts if anything were to happen there – and if the innocents were slaughtered then they’d failed. As much as it was about defeating Voldemort it was also about sparing lives when and if they could. The Order _needed_ to be trained and so they would do it.

“It’s fine Arthur,” Hermione grimaced a smile, her back feeling tight as her anxiety of being enclosed with so many people flared.

“We’ll train the same as last time,” Harry said stiffly at her side. “Though I would ask that we get to stand on the side by the door.”

“Thank you,” Arthur smiled at them, his eyes glowing with warmth. “I’ve told everyone to be on their best behavior and to leave you two alone and not pester you with questions.”

Hermione couldn’t help the smirk that curled the corner of her lips. She knew he was talking about his wife – possibly even Ron, as Remus seemed to accept their secrecy the last time they’d met.

“Alright,” Arthur said a bit more loudly as he turned back to the group. “Well let’s get started – if you want to set-up like last time.”

Harry moved across the room and Hermione followed him, turning to stand facing the room with their backs to the door. Hermione watched as Nasir moved first, making his way silently around the crowd of people to stand at her left and lean against the wall. A part of her wondered if anyone else even saw him moving. Then Remus moved second and everyone followed him. Mrs. Weasley was the only one who seemed to hesitate – she stood stiffy in the kitchen watching them with a tight and wary expression, like she was struggling to process what she was seeing.

“We’ll start by going over pronunciation again first,” Harry said, ignoring the look he was getting from Mrs. Weasley and allowing his eyes to flick over the group. “Leave your wands in your robes and keep your hands at your sides until either myself or Hermione tells you that you have the pronunciation correct.”

“This shield spell is just as dangerous as it is helpful,” Hermione picked up from Harry. “If you cast it incorrectly you _will_ be encased in a bubble that will inflict damage on you until the shield’s duration runs out. There is nothing we can do to stop that if it occurs – as such – you are _never_ to cast this on anyone but yourself. Self-preservation is inherent in a human’s biology so it is less likely you will fail – but protecting others is difficult, you have to mean it deeply, right down to your soul – otherwise you will trap them inside what can literally become a _death_ bubble.”

“A death bubble?” Mrs. Weasley looked between them and Arthur with genuine concern. “Hermione – Arthur are you sure it is a good idea to learn this? Where did you even find such a spell?! Is it even worth the risk?”

“If you’re not interested in learning it then don’t,” Harry said, his eyes flicking towards her. “Everyone who was here last time already knows the risks and they accepted them – if you or anyone else here learning for the first time tonight thinks it’s too risky then that’s your decision. I will not waste my time convincing anyone to learn something that they don’t want to, but I assure you the shield is effective. When cast correctly this shield will protect you from a werewolf bite, it will shield you from any attack and – if you successfully learn this one we will teach you our modified version which protects you from physical blows entirely.”

“But you need to master this one first,” Hermione said taking a step forward and turning away from Mrs. Weasley. “Once you have the pronunciation down move to the end by the window and I’ll go over the wand movements with you.”

Mrs. Weasley frowned but she saw Arthur whisper something in her ear and pull her toward the group of people. Then they got down to business. They demonstrated the shields then they spent twenty minutes going through the pronunciation. Having the shield charm actively encasing her body helped to give her some peace of mind and made the prospect of being surrounded by so many people a little more bearable. Remus and Fleur immediately spoke the words correctly and moved down near the windows so they could review the wand movements with Hermione. As she went through the motions with them she hear Harry calling out ‘ _Plenus-Protego-corPus-LoComotor. You really have to hit that P and C’_ and she fought back a smile. It was just like when she’d been helping him.

Arthur joined her group a few minutes later followed quickly by Bill and then Luna. After a little while longer Shacklebolt, then Dean, then Ron and Mrs. Weasley moved over. Harry began helping Remus and Fleur with their shields and testing the duration while Hermione took over instructing the rest of the group on the wand movements. Both she and Harry maintained distance from the group as much as they could all while trying to ease their tense movements into something more natural. Shacklebolt seemed pretty decent with the movements almost immediately but she had to correct Mrs. Weasley twice, Dean once and Ron several times. Each time she approached Ron she spoke to him in a cold indifferent tone, giving only instruction and walking away from him as quickly as possible. She knew that Mrs. Weasley was watching their exchanges but so far it seemed like whatever Arthur had said to the woman had been effective at keeping her quiet.

“Hermione?” Luna’s voice rang out. “Can you just show me the last part once more – then if you think I am ready I would like to try it.”

“Sure,” Hermione moved before her and completed the motions for the girl and watched her mimic them back. “It looks good Luna – go ahead.”

“Plenus-Protego-corPus-LoComotor,” Luna nailed the movements and a purple jet shot immediately from her wand, encasing her body and leaving the girl with a wide whimsical smile. “Hermione! I did it – can you hex me, I want to test it.”

“Alright,” Hermione couldn’t stop her grin and she sent a wordless leglocker at the girl with a quick flick of her wand. Nothing happened and Luna’s smile grew wider. “Go over to Harry – he’ll pelt you a bit more and well see how long it lasts.”

She circled the group some more and made minor corrections where necessary. It was impossible to ignore the way that Dean eyed her warily and tried to create even more distance between them. Ron’s jaw was clenched so tightly she thought it may be permanently shut and he eyed her cautiously as if nervous she might snap at him. It was an unnecessary concern – she wouldn’t snap at him. He wasn’t worth her time or the effort it would take her to breathe in the air required to yell at him. She hated him, she was angry with him, but overall – he was dead to her. If and when she ever decided to snap at him no words would be necessary.

“Hermione,” Mrs. Weasley had called to her and she saw Arthur look in their direction. “I would like to try it.”

“Alright,” Hermione moved toward the woman stiffly, the calm that Luna had brought to her body quickly faded. She’d always like Mrs. Weasley but the woman could be a bit much at times and she felt like she was toeing around a barrage of oncoming questions. “Go through the words once, then the motions and if it’s good you can try it.”

Mrs. Weasley demonstrated, and it looked alright so she took her attempt. A purple spark sprouted from her wand. It didn’t encase her body – but it was a good start.

“It’s a good start – just make sure you _really_ mean it when you say it – I found envisaging a warm cacoon helped the first few times.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Weasley smiled, then her face grew tighter and she took a step forward and dropped her voice. “Hermione dear – is everything okay?”

Hermione could see Arthur stiffen from the corner of her eye and she knew he was watching them closely. She decided to try and deflect the question. “Yes Mrs. Weasley – if you keep practicing just as you have it, I’m sure you will get it.”

“Oh – I,” she hesitated, clearly not meaning what she’d said in the way that Hermione had chosen to respond. Yet determination set across her face and she pushed, just like she always did. “Hermione – I meant is everything okay with _you_ dear – and – and Harry. You two seem – well you just seem… different. And your pants dear – why are they burnt? You look like you caught fire.”

“I did,” Hermione said flatly her eyes hardening and skimming over Mrs. Weasley’s wide-eyed reaction.

“What?! You caught fire?” her voice had risen and a few other eyes were looking at them now.

“Only a little,” Hermione’s lips twisted into a tight line. “But it’s nothing to be concerned about, Nasir put it out in time.”

“You’re working with Nasir?” Mrs. Weasley’s voice had dropped low and she was looking at Hermione with a stern, disapproving and vastly concerned expression. She looked like she was about to pitch a classic Mrs. Weasley meltdown and Hermione wasn’t going to have any of it.

“And?” Hermione arched a brow, her voice becoming deadly low in challenge as she stared the woman down. Mrs. Weasley’s face shifted and she looked at her in disbelief. “Keep practicing Mrs. Weasley.”

She stepped past the woman and moved toward Shacklebolt, ignoring the heat on her back and knowing that the woman was glaring after her in confused disbelief. She felt a second pair of familiar eyes on her and she flicked her gaze to Nasir. He was still standing against the wall, his expression impassive, his posture straight and unmoving, his eyes dark and piercing. They were locked on her, watching her every move as she made her way down the line and helped the others. He’d been watching her since the minute she’d come back into view – yet oddly, the hairs on the back of her neck no longer stood up. Not even with the glint in his eyes that had appeared after the exchange with Mrs. Weasley. Instead an odd feeling of calm had settled into her bones and she knew it stemmed from what had happened outside and the training session that had followed. She still feared Nasir in a respectful way, she knew how deadly he was and she respected that - but something had shifted.

She couldn’t describe it.

She’d never be able to explain why, but she had the distinct feeling that even _if_ someone did try to harm her tonight – she wouldn’t have to lift a finger to defend herself. She didn’t understand why – but she could feel it in her bones, Nasir would move before she’d even blink an eye. She wanted to talk to Harry about it when they were alone. She needed to know if he'd felt the same shift, but for now they needed to get through training.

Practice continued for another hour until she heard a voice she’d not been expecting to hear.

“Hermione,” Ron’s voice was tight, and his discomfort was clear. “I’d like to try the spell.”

She turned to him, her eyes cold with an indifference she felt she was learning from Nasir. “Run through it once.”

He did.

The motions were fine, but he didn’t hit the C quite right. She corrected him and he ran through it once more. It was acceptable.

“Go ahead, just don’t miss the C,” she stood to the side watching him. He looked nervous but he raised his wand anyways.

“Plenus-Protego-corPus-LoComotor,” Ron spoke it clearly, each letter was fine and the wand movements were correct.

Yet despite this a red spark blasted from the end of his wand and encased his body. Hermione watched in surprise, as the redhead collapsed to the ground and began screaming in agony. Her brow arched as the entire room turned to face him, everyone’s eyes frantic as they moved toward him yet stayed back as they had no idea what to do. Harry made his way toward her, glancing to her quickly with a raised brow in question before stopping at her side. Ron’s screams turned into shrieks that split the air like a knife as his body shook and writhed on the ground. Then silence rang out and he started panting and clutching his chest. The whole experience had lasted less than 8 seconds but sweat covered his face and he rolled on to his back with a low groan.

“Oh my –! Ron! Ron!” Mrs. Weasley moved first and made her way toward him, helping him from the ground as ragged gasps left his body. “What the – what happened?! _What happened!?_ ”

She’d turned to look at Hermione angrily as Ron batted her away. He managed to get his arm free of her and shuffled away, gripping his side tightly. He glared at his mother then slowly turned to Hermione and Harry with a tight and pained expression.

“You _said_ I had it right,” he grit out, as he visibly fought to control his anger through the pain.

“You did,” Hermione said flatly, her eyes skimming over his trembling body. She’d be lying if she said his reaction didn’t surprise her. She’d expected him to immediately explode but he seemed to be trying to contain it and as much as his eyes were glaring it seemed to be from pain more than anything else.

“Then _what_ happened?!” Mrs. Weasley almost shrieked. “The spell is supposed to protect you if you cast it on yourself!”

“Perhaps you didn’t listen to what Hermione said,” Harry looked to her coolly, his expression strained. “It’s _less_ likely to fail when casting on yourself, _not_ guaranteed to be successful. Your _intent_ must still be to protect.”

“So you’re saying my _intent_ was wrong?” Ron said tightly. She could see his anger seeping through his body as the pain rippled through him. He was fighting against his typical behaviours. “You’re _sure_? There wasn’t _anything_ wrong with what I said?”

“I’m sure,” Hermione confirmed, watching as his face tightened in pain.

“Or with the wand movements? There’s not even a chance that you wanted me to get a taste of pain?” Ron said tightly as he watched her face.

“Ron!” Bill’s voice sounded but Hermione ignored it.

Her eyes narrowed at the redhead as the room fell quiet – yet she didn’t attack him. She wasn’t even sure she was angry at his words because she’d watched his face as he’d said them. She’d heard the underlying tones and inflections of his voice. He _was_ angry – but he didn’t seem to be angry at her. His voice had been tight but somehow it wasn’t accusatory. It was a _genuine_ question.

As if he _actually_ wanted to confirm that this had been _his_ fault. He was clenching his jaw tightly and was buckled at the waist as he looked at her, waiting for her to respond as he tried to control his breathing.

“No,” Hermione said flatly, taking a step towards the redhead.

She saw him flinch as she moved. It was clear now that he had _finally_ realized the chasmic difference between them – that he wasn’t even on the same field, they weren’t competing in the same league. He didn’t stand a fleeting chance against her and he’d not meant his words to antagonize her. A part of him genuinely feared her, he was looking for the truth.

“If I’d wanted you to experience _pain_ – I would have done it myself,” she paused her eyes flicking over his face once more before her voice lowered to a deadly tone. “And you wouldn’t have _lived_ through it.”

Ron swallowed, his body shaking as he stood slumped before her. His eyes were tight with agony, his gasps came in low sharp pulls and his hand shook against his side as he held her gaze despite the way he naturally leaned away from her. Then unbelievably – he nodded.

“Fleur,” Ron said stiffly as he turned and began shuffling his way towards the blond. “Would you be able to make sure nothing is permanently damaged?”

Fleur moved toward the redhead and cast a diagnostic charm, half the room watching while the other half stared at her with a wide range of emotions. Mrs. Weasley looked like she’d swallowed something sour and ghastly – her expression was beyond anything that Hermione had the words to describe but it was clear that she was shocked, disturbed and terrified. Arthur, while unsurprised, looked at his wife warily and moved quickly towards her, pulling her away from them and into the kitchen.

“I think it’s about time we packed it in for the night – yes,” Remus said with a tight smile to the room, making his way over to Hermione and Harry as he spoke. “It’s getting late after all – we will meet back here tomorrow at 7 pm to continue.”

Hermione turned to the greying man as he approached, seeing the others move around him as they made to pack up their belongings and head out or move upstairs.

“Thank you – both of you, for helping out tonight,” Remus said with a genuine smile. “I know that this could not have been easy for you, so I want you to know that it is appreciated.”

“It’s important,” Harry said, though Hermione knew he was still watching Ron closely from the corner of his gaze. “We need everyone to be ready.”

“Precisely,” Remus smiled at them again. “After the baby comes, I’d like for Tonks to learn this as well – but for now I think it’s best to avoid the risk. Alright – I won’t keep either of you – but Hermione – I am so glad to see how well you are doing.”

“Thank you, Remus,” Hermione smiled at him. She’d left her arm untethered at her side during training as she hardly used it for anything more than to scratch at her neck. Though the movement had caught the attention of everyone in the room and she’d not missed the bright and excited expressions from those who knew what had happened.

The room dispersed fairly quickly after that and Hermione made her way outside into the night with Harry. Nasir, Shacklebolt and Remus followed close behind. She could hear the tight whispers between Mrs. Weasley and Arthur growing louder and louder until the door of the cottage shut and it went silent. Clearly, they would be staying and _discussing_ things and she assumed that Shacklebolt would be returning Nasir to wherever he called home. She turned to the tanned man before she and Harry set off to their dune.

“Thank you for this afternoon,” she said looking up to him.

“It was my pleasure,” his deep baritone vibrated between them. He turned to looked at the both of them, his eyes glinting in the night. “Make sure that you both get your rest tonight – tomorrow I will teach you something _new.”_

(To be continued…)

-x-x-

LOVE YOU <3 hope you are all well


	46. Chapter Forty-Six (ft. Snape)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Well… this has turned into a FULL chapter with lots of happenings and people. I had to decide between three different plot progressions today (variants on the main already decided plot) in order to write this chapter – so here’s to hoping I picked correctly ;)  
> 2\. Today we visit Shell Cottage, Hogwarts and continue preparing for attack. To all of you hoping that H&H will get some alone time… I hope you are satisfied ;)  
> 3\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.  
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> \- There be smut ahead.

**Dear Fluffy - the Snape sections of this are as always, dedicated to you <3**

**Aani - warning, Snape a head... though I fear this time it is less light hearted.**

“Harry?” Hermione said quietly as she followed him inside their tent. Her legs moved sluggishly and her back was stiff from the tension that had riddled her body while teaching inside the cottage. It was only just starting to leave her body now that they were alone in _their_ tent, safe, with the area warded around them.

“Mhmm,” he was setting her purse down on the small table near their bed and pulling out their pajamas.

“After today,” she said slowly, watching him carefully as she approached closer and stopped to lean her back against the pole in the center of the tent. “Did you notice anything different with Nasir – do you – do you _feel_ anything different now?”

“You mean how he watches you obsessively?” Harry turned to look at her with his brow quirked, he didn’t seem angry about it, he’d simply stated it as a fact. “Or how somehow he radiates even more intense vibes around us now?”

Hermione snorted, a small smile forming on her lips. “Sort of.”

Harry smiled at her softly, dropping their pajamas to the bunk and making his way over to her. His hands moved to her waist as he stepped before her, his right thumb slipping under the bottom of her sweater and gliding over her skin in a gentle motion. Hermione sighed at his touch and felt her body relax further into the pole behind her.

“What did you mean specifically?” Harry said quietly, his eyes watching hers.

“Aside from the fact that he won’t stop staring at me now – what I meant was – it’s sort of hard to explain,” Hermione sighed and ran her hands over his forearms, tracing her thumbs over the singed fabric. “When we were in the cottage – I hated it, I was uncomfortable because it was too enclosed, too crowded. Yet I couldn’t shake this feeling in the back of my head that we were fine – that if anything did happen – that Nasir would do something about it. Harry, I’m not sure how to explain it – I still don’t think he has a side but it’s like –“

“Like he’s decided to be on _your_ side,” Harry finished for her when she struggled to find a way to word it.

“Yeah,” Hermione furrowed her brow as she looked at him. “Almost like this afternoon there were two outcomes – he was either going to kill us or walk away, _or_ he was going to help us. And I think he decided to help us – I think he would actually protect us.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it has anything to do with me, Hermione,” Harry said quietly, his eyes traced over her face and he stepped closer toward her. “I know the feeling that you’re talking about but – it’s centered around you.”

Hermione swallowed, her head nodding slowly as she looked at him. She’d almost expected him to say that. It was a weird feeling – knowing that she was the centerpiece of this odd relationship with Nasir. She wasn’t even sure what to define it as – she supposed the closest thing that came to mind was _mentor_. Knowing that for whatever reason this indifferent and impartial man had made a _choice_ and while he may not follow them fully into war, he was still assisting them and therefore to some extent he was picking a side made it stranger still.

Even if it was just her side.

It left her feeling uneasy as it made her feel both safe to know that he was supporting her and thus Harry by association, but it also weighed heavy like a burden of responsibility. She wondered if this was how Harry felt about being the _chosen one_ every time people decided to follow him, support him or when things depended on him. It was a strange sort of sad, heavy happiness that left her feeling uncomfortable.

“What if he changes his mind,” Hermione said slowly, her jaw tightening as she watched him.

“I don’t think he will,” Harry said quietly.

“What if he wants something in return for helping us?”

Harry looked at her thoughtfully for a moment.

“Then I guess we deal with that later – though, he sort of strikes me as the type who would have asked for that up front. As you said, he doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to – so he’s here for a reason,” Harry closed the distance between them, his left hand running up the side of her sweater and coming to rest firmly on her ribs. “My bigger concern – is how far he will push this and what you’ll take.”

“What do you mean?” she tilted her head back against the pole to look at him.

“You told him we would take anything from him – that we would learn whatever he was willing to teach us, and while that’s true,” Harry hesitated, his eyes searching her face before he swallowed and continued in a quiet low whisper. “We can’t forget _why_ we are doing this. I _know_ you Hermione – I know what you’re like with information and I think he’s figured that out too – I think that’s why he’s decided to help you and my only worry is how much you’re willing to give for it. We’re both willing to do whatever it takes to win this war – I’m with you on that decision, wholeheartedly. But knowledge for the sake of knowledge can be dangerous and I – I just don’t want you to forget why we’re doing what we’re doing. Why we’re toeing the line and even on occasion walking blatantly right over it. We’re doing it to win because it _needs_ to be done – because there is no other way – not just for the sake of doing it.”

Hermione nodded again, swallowing hard as her grip on his forearms tightened. She closed her eyes and thumped her head gently against the wooden pole behind her. She felt a bit agitated by his words but they weren’t untrue.

“I know,” she breathed, opening her eyes to look at him once more. “I’m not going to sell my soul and write off my humanity for knowledge, Harry.”

“I know that,” Harry said, a small smile tugging on his lips. “But it doesn’t happen in one jump, Hermione – it happens slowly over time and Nasir would be just the type of person to coax you into it because he is so indifferent on the matter. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s what he has done to himself.”

Hermione grimaced at him, if truth be told she wasn’t really sure what to say. Harry was probably right, she’d had a similar thought herself after he’d started to teach them – it was obvious the man had acquired a vast collection of skills that were gathered through questionable moral means. It was obvious he gave no regard to how it affected his _humanity_ and Harry was also right about her. It was a fair concern, one that weighed on her mind – knowledge was her weakness.

“I’m not going to _lose_ you in this war – in any shape of the meaning,” Harry whispered, leaning his head down and resting his forehead against hers. “We’ll learn what we need, we’ll do what we need – but please don’t lose yourself to the temptation of _more_.”

“Okay,” Hermione sighed, closing her eyes again and pressing her forehead into his. A small airy laugh left her lips and she smiled. “You might have to help me with that and be my moral compass Harry – keep me from temptation.”

She could feel his chuckle as she opened her eyes to him. He was looking at her with concern, but there was a small smile on his lips as his thumb grazed over her hip bone and sent a shiver down her spine.

“I will, even if that means denying you some tantalizing knowledge – I’ll stop you,” he kissed her gently and she felt a second shiver roll down her spine.

“Maybe you’ll just have to distract me with something else that’s equally tantalizing,” Hermione murmured against his lips as her eyes fluttered closed.

Harry kissed her again, his tongue moving slowly over her lip as his grip on her tightened. She felt her pulse quicken as the coil in her centered sprung to life and sent a shudder of pleasure through her body.

“I can do that,” he whispered, his right hand sliding up her side against her bare skin and brushing his thumb over her bra. “Come take a shower with me.”

Hermione slid her hand up his arm to his chest, gripping his sweater tightly and pulling him closer as their kiss deepened before he pulled away. His eyes were dark with want and it made her stomach knot in anticipation as he looked at her heatedly. He grabbed her good arm and lead her to the bathroom as Hermione felt the coil in her center tighten further. They’d never done anything like this before – she had no idea what to expect but he had her full attention and he was already doing an incredible job at distracting her.

They stripped off their singed and burned clothes, dropping them to a pile on the floor of the bathroom, Harry wordlessly started the shower before his hands found her body once more. Steam had already filled the room as he walked her back into the small stall, pushing her back flush against the cold wall and pressing himself into her as his lips moved against hers. She groaned into his mouth, not complaining when she felt her left arm become fixed to her side and instead curling the fingers of her right one into his jagged and uneven hair. She could feel his hard length pressing into her abdomen and it only made the heat burning at her core grow more intense as his hands moved over her body and the hot water sprayed against them.

It was hot, heavy – she felt like she was fully encompassed by him within the small stall as the air grew thick with the heat and steam. His lips moved across her jaw to her neck and she arched into him, pressing herself harder against him. She wanted him – she always wanted him but right now it felt desperate. He’d ignited a fire within her and made her desperate for his touch. His hand weaved into her hair as his other slid down her wet chest and he rolled her nipple between his fingers.

“Fuck Harry,” she breathed against his neck, pulling him closer and moving her lips across his shoulder. “I want you.”

He ground his hips into her, a low groan escaping his mouth near her ear. “I want to do something for you first.”

His mouth traced up her neck, tilting her head back before he captured her lips once more. Kissing her deeply and pressing her firmly into the wall. She panted against him, opening her mouth to him and allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth before he broke away once more and began trailing hot open-mouthed kisses down her body as he lowered himself to his knees. Her eyes widened as she realized what he was doing, his hand coming to rest firmly on her hip as he pinned her to the wall.

“Harry,” she breathed, her hand sliding into the now wet hair on the top of his head. “You don’t have to–“

Her breath caught and her words faltered as she felt his hot tongue glide over the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs. He’d pushed her legs apart and with the flick of a finger redirected the spray of water so that it hit the wall behind her and ran down her back and shoulders. Her fingers curled into his hair as her mouth fell open and she groaned.

 _Fuck it feels so good,_ her mind was consumed with the feel of him.

He was tracing his fingers up the inside of her leg toward her center and she shivered as he slid a single digit inside her. She bit her lip, her head rolling back against the hard wall behind her as he stroked the rough patch of nerves inside her, he’d lifted her leg over his shoulder to get better access and it made her body trembled. Each movement of his tongue against her clit was echoed by the two fingers that now moved inside her and it made the ball of tension at her core double. She clung to him with her single hand, gasping for air as her half-lidded hazy eyes blurred from the steam. She couldn’t handle it, she wouldn’t be able to last, it felt too good, his movements were too precise.

“Harry,” she panted, gripping his hair tighter. “Harry I – I’m going to come.”

He didn’t relent. Instead his hand on her hip tightened its grip and he moved his tongue quicker, twirling it around her bud as his fingers stroked within her. Her body started to quiver, her breath came in pants, her hand gripping his hair painfully tight as the coil in her center sprung loose and a deep moan poured from her lips.

Her body jerked as she came apart, her vision wavering before her eyes shut tight and she rolled her hips against him. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her body as Harry brought her down from her high and held her firmly in place. In her haze she felt her leg being lowered from his shoulder as he shifted to stand and then his lips pressed against hers – he tasted of her and he kissed her deeply, his hands roving over her body as she clung to him. She started to drop to her knees, but he stopped her, and she looked to him curiously through hazy eyes.

“You don’t want me to?”

“I have a different idea – if you’re up for it,” a smirk played on his lips as he kissed her again and pressed himself into her body.

She shuddered against him as his hard length dug into her hip. Of course she was up for it.

“What’s your idea?”

“Turn around,” he whispered, bringing his hands to her hips and twisting her in place.

She grinned and bit her lip as she twisted – she knew where this was going, and she was excited to try it. They’d never had sex in the shower before but the one time previous that he’d taken her from behind it had been exhilarating. She moved a foot away from the wall, bracing herself against it with her only free arm and pressing her cheek against the cool surface – it felt nice, soothing against the heat that ran rampant through her body. She widened her stance for him, shivering as he ran his hands down her sides and leaned forward to kiss the back of her neck. He always knew how to touch her. He always knew how to make her tremble, how to make her skin prickle with desire and her heart race. They learned this together after all and they’d been perfecting it like their training – Harry debatably knew her body better than she did.

She felt his stiff length at her entrance before he carefully pushed into her, drawing a moan from her lips as a deep groan escaped his own. He felt so perfect inside her. He fit her just right – tight and full and satisfied. She arched her back for him, pushing her hips out as his right hand gripped her hip, his left bracing her shoulder for her since she could not use her arm. Each thrust was slow and deep and soon her fingernails were biting into the tile as the hot water washed over her shoulders and moans poured from her mouth. She was still riding the bliss from her orgasm and each time he thrust into her it sent a pleasant wave through her body.

“ _Fuck_ Hermione,” Harry groaned and Hermione felt his lips on her back as his left hand curled across her chest to pull her upright so he could kiss her neck as he pushed himself into her again and again.

“Harry,” she panted, twisting her head to the side so she could kiss him as he groaned deeply and clutched her small body to his chest.

If she were any taller this angle would never have worked but their heights worked perfectly. She leaned back into him as he slipped his hand over her hip to her center so he could circle her clit with his fingers once more. She shuddered, it was so sensitive that she could hardly stand the touch and even though she could feel the coil building within her once more – she didn’t think she would come. Her body felt too tight, too strained and it was too sensitive. She wanted to, desperately, but she couldn’t even handle the sensations that were washing through her.

“Oh my god,” Hermione wriggled in his hold as it became almost unbearable. “Harry – I – I can’t – it feels too–“

Her mouth opened wide in a strangled cry as he thrust into her deep and his fingers pressed her small bundle of nerves harder. She fell apart in his arms, incomprehensible moans seeping from her lips as a second orgasm crashed through her body. She felt like she couldn’t breathe – she’d never experienced anything like this, it was raw and uncontrolled, and she felt her legs grow weak beneath her as her mind turned to mush. His movements had grown quicker, his thrusts faster and harder and she could hear his breath catching but it barely registered in her mind until she heard him groan loudly, his hand moving out before them to brace against the wall as he came. He held her to him with his left arm so she wouldn’t fall over and he pushed into her deeply, gasping for air as his body shuddered.

She fought to breathe, her body shaking in his hold as the heat between and around them consumed her. She felt him nuzzle his nose at the back of her now soaking wet hair as his hips slowed to a gentle roll against her, his ragged deep breaths sounding in her ear as he kissed the side of her face.

“I thought you said you couldn’t,” a laugh cut from his lips between his gasps for air.

Hermione grinned, taking deep panting breaths as she turned her head toward him. “I couldn’t – it was too much – I don’t know how that happened.”

He pulled her back flush against his body, kissing her slowly, his hand moving up to gently cup her neck as he held her. When he pulled away from her, she could see the haze in his eyes, the flush on his face, the adoration in his eyes.

“I love you,” his voice was low and quiet, and it made a shiver run through her body.

“I love you Harry,” she whispered back, her eyes tracing over his face before she kissed him once more.

They finished showering after he’d carefully pulled himself from her body. Both of them trembling on their legs but taking the time to wash their hair before finally leaving the small stall and pulling on their pajamas. Hermione pulled on her short green shorts and baggy white tank, and Harry his plaid pajama bottoms before they dried their hair and made their way to bed. It was late now and with her mandatory ten hours of sleep they’d be late to training tomorrow morning, but she didn’t care. She’d needed that – they’d both needed that. It was a perfect reminder of exactly what they were fighting for and what they both needed to get them through the upcoming week of hard training.

She laid next to him in bed, delaying taking the Dreamless sleep potion he’d set out for her and instead curling herself into his side and tracing her fingers over the scar that decorated his left arm. She could feel his eyes moving over her face as his thumb brushed over the skin at her waist. She felt calm, safe – and the weight on her heart felt lighter.

“Hermione,” his voice naturally drew her eyes to his. He was looking at her in the way she’d grown used to seeing when they were alone – in the way that made her heart flutter because she could _see_ just how much he loved her.

“Mmm,” she hummed, her fingers still tracing along his arm.

“Move in with me – when this is over if we don’t both die – will you move into Grimmauld Place with me?” his voice was so soft and quiet as he spoke that her fingers stilled, and she felt her heart catch in her chest. “The place is a mess and Walburga is a bitch – but we could fix it up. Move her to the basement. Make it look not so dingy and awful.”

Hermione fought to get air back in her lungs. She knew that they would be together after the war – they’d already discussed it. They’d already said that they would stay together but somehow hearing him bluntly ask her to move in with him had made everything very tangible and it sent a wave of nerves through her stomach. The answer was simple, she’d just never considered where they would go afterwards – she’d never given herself a minute to give it any thought.

“Of course,” she breathed, swallowing hard before a grin split across her face. “Yes Harry – of course. We can stay there and figure out what we’re going to do next, we can fix up the library and even make the yard look less dead.”

He grinned at her. “Depending what happens – if we want to go back to finish school or not, maybe we can stay there and finish our studies – then we wouldn’t have to stay at the castle.”

Hermione moved forward and kissed him, her lips moving across his with a lazy, satisfied feel as his hand gripped her waist tighter. She felt like her chest was exploding and she wanted nothing more than to lay curled in his arms forever.

“Definitely,” she whispered against him. “We can take some time for us – figure out what we want to do, without all this other shit and just exist – just the two of us.”

He grinned, running his hand along the side of her face and tracing the pad of his thumb over her cheek. “Exactly.”

-x-x-

**April 7, 1998**

**Hogwarts, 3:01 am**

Snape groaned audibly; both hands coming to his face, the palms of his hands pressing against his temples as his fingers threaded into his tangled hair.

“Fuuucking hell,” he hissed through clenched teeth as the chime within his head rang with a vengeance.

He checked the time and groaned even louder, hauling himself from bed and nearly tripping over his dragon hide boots. “ _FUCK_!”

He kicked them away, only to roll his eyes and summon them back to him, pulling them on and doing his best to refocus his mind. He’d been asleep for less than an hour, having not gotten back from Malfoy Manor until after 2 am and only managing to kick off his boots, and shrug off his robes before collapsing on the bed in exhaustion.

He was tired – but he was always tired, he was sore, disoriented and barely functional. Yet Phineas was calling him with determination and he knew it meant _something_ had happened. Probably something bad. He just hoped that Potter and Granger hadn’t gotten captured yet again, that Shell Cottage hadn’t exploded, or that Nasir had not killed them. He’d not heard anything from the man directly since speaking to him in the woods near Birmingham. He only had the snippets of information that Phineas managed to gather from his spying and so far it seemed like Nasir had _actually_ healed the girl and that he was possibly even training them now – though the details around that were a bit unclear. In a way he’d spent the last five days waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the news to come that Nasir had inevitably decided they were unworthy or a waste of his time – that he’d grown bored of them.

His heart sank in his chest.

From the intensity of the ringing Phineas was making he felt like it had finally happened. That he was going to walk into his office and get the news he’d been dreading from the moment he struck a deal with that man. Then he would have to deal with Dumbledore’s ‘ _I told you so_ ’ anger, which was a thought that made him seriously consider just downing his experimental potion #113 to see what happened. There was a good chance that it would kill him before anyone could do anything to stop it.

He let a deep breath out of his lungs and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face and opening his eyes wider, forcing them to focus as he made his way to the door. Thankfully he was still dressed, even if his shirt was untucked and wrinkled, but that hardly mattered.

He ripped open the door and strolled into his office.

“What Phineas?” Snape said with exhausted bitterness. “This better be more important than alerting me that Granger was able to hold a teacup or I swear to –“

“Severus.”

Snape froze mid-stride, a cold shiver running down his back as his entire body tensed. He would recognize that deep rich baritone anywhere – though he had never expected to hear it within the confines of the school, particularly not in the Headmaster’s office. He turned slowly toward the desk on his right, the silence of the office echoing painfully loud in his ears until his eyes landed on the man he had never expected to see anywhere near here.

“Nasir,” Snape said quietly, hearing the tightness in his own voice. The tanned man was sitting in his office chair, he’d turned it to face Dumbledore and Phineas’ portraits, his legs were crossed in an abnormally causal fashion and his eyes were glinting in the dim light of the office. Snape swallowed, forcing himself to keep his voice level. “I wasn’t expecting to see you – here.”

“Yes,” he said slowly, his eyes tracing over Snape’s frame. “Well one cannot be too careful with owls these days, what with the _war_ and all – it seemed suiting given that I had no other means of contacting you.”

It was uncomfortable, his gaze always felt so piercing. Yet what was even more uncomfortable was the casually indifferent tone that the man had taken and the fact that he offered any explanation for his presence at all – uttering words under his own volition as if he was willing to ‘ _chat’_.

“I see,” Snape nodded stiffly as he watched the man before him.

His mind had flooded with questions and he felt his hands twitch at his sides as he fought against clenching them. Had Nasir come to collect his payment? Had he come with news? Did he come here to kill him? Snape didn’t even bother wondering _how_ the man got into the castle – like the Dark Lord Nasir was capable of undetected travel in questionable ways so it was no surprise that he’d been able to enter the school grounds. He’d likely just flown right through the fucking window.

“Severus!” It was Dumbledore, and his voice was unsurprisingly tight with anger. “Put an end to this now! _Nasir_ – you are not welcome here!”

“I apologize for the intrusion Albus,” Nasir’s eyes flicked over to the dead Headmaster’s portrait with a slow indifference. His gaze trailed over the frame before it moved back to Snape. “But my business is not with you.”

“ _Severus_!” Dumbledore warned him, but Snape ignored him. He didn’t need to look at the old man to know that he was raging within his frame.

“Why are you here?” Snape asked the man before him, keeping his voice calm as Nasir continued to stare at him in his unnatural and unnerving manner.

“I came to discuss your offer,” Nasir said slowly. “And to tell you that you undersold Hermione and Harry – they really are – quite fascinating.”

“ _Offer_?” Dumbledore’s voice had dropped to a deadly low tone that echoed with the drop in Snape’s heart at the mysterious man’s words. “Severus _what_ did you do?”

Snape refused to look at the dead Headmaster. He’d not told Dumbledore the specifics of his arrangement with Nasir – the only information that the old man had was what he’d caught wind of from Phineas’ updates. He knew that Nasir had healed Granger, but he didn’t know why or how – Snape had even refused to tell the man what potions he’d given Nasir.

“I see,” Snape said quietly.

He straightened his stance and flicked his eyes to Phineas quickly, catching the strained look on the man’s face before he clenched his jaw and returned his gaze to Nasir. It seemed that his suspicion was correct. Nasir was indeed here to collect on his _payment_ , the only question that remained was what the man was going to ask of him – Nasir hadn’t been wrong in the woods. Snape did not have much left to give but a deal was a deal and he had meant what he’d said. He would give the man whatever he asked for – Nasir had more than held up his end of the agreement and he was even training the duo now.

Snape bit back the discomfort that was growing in the pit of his stomach as he watched the unnerving man continue to sit still like a statue in his chair. Perhaps the unrequested _training_ was going to cost him even more – and he was painfully aware that the currency would not be galleons.

“So you weren’t lying,” Nasir said with quiet interest, his eyes flicking back to Dumbledore’s frame as the man continued to demand answers.

“I never lied,” Snape almost whispered. He knew that Nasir was referring to their conversation in the woods and how he’d said that Dumbledore had not agreed to him seeking his help. It was a ridiculous comment for Nasir to make – he could tell when people were lying, he’d known that very night that Snape was there of his own volition. Perhaps he was just toying with him, which only made Snape’s insides twist further. “You knew that then.”

“True,” Nasir’s said indifferently, his eyes glinted as his gaze returned to Snape. A small hint of a smile formed on his lips as he ignored Dumbledore and spoke as if the room were quiet around them. “But you did lie about their skill. They are remarkable Severus – on their way to becoming quite formidable in fact. With training – the two of them might even make your goal a reality. Though you never mentioned the dynamic between them, it is rather–“

Nasir’s voice cut off, his eyes narrowing a fraction. Snape had stiffened at his words, knowing exactly where he was headed and his eyes had unconsciously darted to his left toward the Headmaster’s frame. Snape and Phineas had made an unspoken agreement not to disclose the nature of Potter and Granger’s relationship to Dumbledore. They’d done it for three reasons. First – it was none of his fucking business. As it was both Snape and Phineas wished that they did not have to know the information themselves, they certainly didn’t want to share it. Second – it likely went against Dumbledore’s ‘ _plan’_ in some way and he did not need the old wizard bitching even more than he already did. And third – because once again, it was no one’s business and there was no fucking way he was going to discuss his student’s sexual relationships with a dead old man.

“I see,” Nasir said slowly, tilting his head to the side as he eyed Snape, evidently picking up on his subtle reaction. He then continued on in his indifferent tone though his eyes continued to glint. “Hermione is healed – she will regain full use of her arm, so I will not be needing these.”

Nasir pulled the extra vials of black nerve regeneration potion from his robes and placed them on the desk.

“Thank you,” Snape said tightly, nodding toward the tanned man. “I appreciate what you did.”

“You _helped_ them?” Dumbledore’s voice sounded louder and Snape finally looked toward him to see that the old wizard’s face was dark with anger. “Severus – you fool! I told you – we cannot accept _help_ from him. He is incapable of picking a side and he will _not_ do the right thing – he doesn’t _help_ people. He will use you and take what he wants – he is _not_ _helping_ you!”

Snape opened his mouth to respond but surprisingly – Nasir beat him to it, his rich deep baritone filling the room.

“You speak as if you are well acquainted with the concept of manipulation, Albus,” Nasir’s gaze had flicked to the portrait and the glint in his eye had grown. He remained unnaturally still in the chair but his voice had darkened. “How many people have you used now Albus – tens of them? Have you crossed into the hundreds yet? You’re not still upset that I refused to be your _dog_ and do your bidding, are you? That was decades ago – surely you’ve let that go by now.”

A strange noise came from Dumbledore’s portrait, almost as if he’d scoffed at the words and Snape saw a look of dark hatred cross the old man’s face. He’d not seen that expression in years – not since he’d come to Dumbledore for help on the hill after he’d found out that the Dark Lord intended to kill Lily. It was pure disgust and his voice was laced with contempt.

“Yes, and look at you now,” Dumbledore’s cold voice was chilling, his eyes narrowed at the man in the chair. “Physically unchanged – yet you’ve become an empty shell, a soulless creature that can hardly be called human or _alive_ – wandering through life with no point or purpose except to claim what you want. Your existence is an abomination that was meant to have been corrected.”

Nasir’s eyes darkened. “I am hardly the first being to walk the Earth with no soul Dumbledore – it’s not necessary to _live_ , you know this.”

“Dementors were not the by-product of an experiment that never should have been conducted!” Dumbledore’s hatred darkened. “You _sold_ your humanity, just for the sake of doing it – because you had to have _more_! Despite what you think I don’t manipulate people into being _servants_ Nasir – I asked you to join me because it was the right thing to do, because I needed your help. Yet you ran off to the Ministry and became an Unspeakable just so that you could operate outside of the law, without repercussion, simply for your own gain! Specializing as an assassin, slaughtering countless numbers of people on the Ministry’s Orders – you became _their_ dog Nasir! You just didn’t care because you had something to gain from it – and now look at you.”

“Fascinating that you seem to have forgotten your own history,” Nasir’s voice had become low, his eyes were burning as he stared at Dumbledore’s portrait with dark intensity. “And _convenient_ , that you can speak so freely about my past and intentions to fit them in your narrative – when you know that I am incapable of speaking on them.”

A heavy silence filled the room, Snape’s entire body was frozen stiff as his eyes darted between the dead Headmaster and Nasir. Unsure of what he should do or say – or if he should even breathe. The air felt laced with electricity as a deep cold settled over the room and he could feel his heart involuntarily quicken. Phineas was rigid and unmoving in his frame as if terrified to draw attention to himself – as if he was attempting to look like a muggle picture as the rest of the portraits in the office were currently doing. Then Nasir shifted, his face become impassive once more as his eyes flicked back to Snape’s gaze.

“As I said before,” Nasir said slowly, his voice the familiar rich baritone again. “I’m here to discuss your offer.”

“Of course,” Snape said tightly, swallowing down his nerves and forcing his face to remain impassive. The sinking feeling in his chest had grown heavy and tight. “What is it that you want?”

“I need strength potion,” Nasir said evenly, his voice impassive.

“How much?” Snape said slowly, knowing that this couldn’t possibly be the only thing that the man would request.

“Two full vials.”

“Alright,” Snape extended his hand and summoned the bottles from his stores, they flew through the open door to his chambers and into his hand. He stepped forward and carefully placed them on the desk before sending the spare nerve regeneration potions back to his quarters.

“Three vials of blood replenisher,” Nasir continued.

Snape once again extended his hand and summoned the ingredients, directing them to the desk in silence and feeling the tension grow in his chest.

“One container of burn healing paste, one container of murtlap essence.”

The containers flew soundlessly to the desk.

“And your soul.”

Snape froze – he’d extended his hand once more to summon the next potion, only to freeze as his brain caught up with his actions. He felt all the air leave his lungs like he’d been kicked in the diaphragm. He’d heard the intake of breath from Phineas behind him and somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind he heard Dumbledore yelling something, but he did not bother to look at the portraits or listen. Snape slowly turned his head to look at the man in the chair, his arm dropping to his side as the tanned man’s impassive face came back into view.

“ _My soul_ ,” the words came out as a raspy whisper. He could feel a hollow, cold emptiness begin to radiate from his center.

“Yes,” Nasir’s eyes glinted as he looked at him, a low dark smile moving over his lips. “Just part of it – I am not so detached that I would request the entire thing and leave you with nothing. You will live.”

“Just a part of it,” Snape repeated.

It was like he could not get his brain to come up with an original thought, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the man before him in disbelief. He’d known that the price would be steep – he’d known that he’d made a deal with a devil but he’d not known that the man would ask for part of his fucking _life_. Of course souls could be split – Voldemort had done it, Nasir had done it, others had done it before them. There were countless documented cases of it if you knew where to look. It happened when you tinkered with things that you shouldn’t touch or if you purposely meddled with it. His own was already marred by the things that he’d done. It was damaged and debatably useless as it was – why someone would want a part of it was beyond him, and if he gave a piece of it away he wasn’t sure what the fuck he would be left with.

It wasn’t like a carton of eggs, he couldn’t just go to the fridge and give Nasir a few from the dozen. It wasn’t something that was easily split, or easily sliced – it was the essence of your life force, the very thing that made you human – that made someone who they were. Regardless of one’s beliefs, regardless of what one wanted to call it – either a soul, one’s humanity, one’s conscience – they were all words used to describe the pieces that made up one’s _being_ and it was never intended to be divvied up like a fucking birthday cake to share amongst friends. There were consequences to cutting it, if done wrong it could kill you – he couldn’t just casually hand him over a piece, and he didn’t know why the fuck Nasir would want a part of his already damaged one at all.

“ _Why?_ ” Snape’s voice rang painfully tight as his shoulders tensed.

Nasir only stared at him, his dark glinting eyes moving over his body and making him feel even colder than he was. The man’s desire for conversation was clearly gone as he provided no response and simply continued to stare. Snape felt his jaw growing tighter as Dumbledore’s ranting started to ring in his ears.

“Are you backing out of your offer?” Nasir shifted in his chair, uncrossing his legs and Snape felt his back stiffen.

“No – _wait_ ,” Snape breathed, his heart beating heavy in his chest as his brain raced through every possible scenario. He ran his hand into his hair and closed his eyes, letting out a deep low breath before he looked back at the man before him. “ _Alright_ – when do you need it.”

“SEVERUS!” Dumbledore’s bellowing voice finally cut through the fog in his head and Snape turned to glare at the old man in agitation. The wizard simply refused to keep his nose out of other people’s business. “You are absolutely _NOT_ giving part of your _soul_ to that man!”

Snape felt a deep anger ignite at his core as he stared at the desperate expression on the old wizard’s face – and he exploded.

“Why the _FUCK_ would that matter to you!” Snape bellowed at the wizard, his face contorting in anger. “I’M ALREADY _DEAD_! My life will _end_ with this war just as you’ve designed it! Don’t fucking pretend like you give a shit now, Albus!”

He could feel the anger shaking through his body as the realization of what he was about to do hit him like a bludger. These were the consequences of his actions – this is where it had led him. This was his life. His fucking miserable broken life. He would split apart his soul, sell off the pieces of his body – he would give every remaining literal piece of himself to take back what he’d done. To repair the damage and bring an end to that red eyed demon – because it was the only thing he could do, it was the only way that he could make his life _mean_ something. He was _dead_ anyways, so why the fuck would it matter if he ripped a piece of himself off and handed it away.

How was it any fucking different from anything else he’d done to date?

How was it any different than what Dumbledore had asked him to do last year – what he’d _forced_ him to do?

At least _this_ was a consequence for a decision that he had made on his _own_. It was something that he had done for the _right_ reasons because he believed that Nasir could help and he _had_ – the man was single handedly responsible for Granger’s recovery and he was now teaching them the skills necessary to win the fucking war. For the first time since that disfigured, horrifying lump of human flesh had become the Dark Lord reincarnated Snape finally felt like they stood a real shot at winning and it was no thanks to Dumbledore.

 _This_ was his purpose in life – to give himself fully, so that that piece of shit Potter and his annoying Granger girlfriend would live until the very end and defeat the Dark Lord. He was as much of a sacrificial pig as the boy was – the only difference was that he’d known it the whole time, he’d accepted it fucking years ago.

“Severus this is _different_!” Dumbledore called to him desperately, the strain clear on his face even in the dim lighting.

“No different than anything _you_ have already asked of me,” Snape sneered before turning back to man before him. “When?”

“Now,” Nasir’s eyes had darkened and he began to unfold himself from the chair. Rising like the dead unearthly thing that he was.

“Now,” Snape’s voice was strained but he nodded, his lips set in a tight line. “Fine – what do you need?”

“Some place quiet,” Nasir said darkly as his eyes flicked to Dumbledore. He’d already gathered the potions and containers from the desk and pocketed them in his robes.

Snape felt his jaw tighten but he nodded once, turning on his heel towards his quarters and ignoring Dumbledore’s calls. He’d almost reached the door when he froze on spot once more at the sound of his name.

“Severus,” it was small and agonizingly sad.

His shoulders tensed as he stiffly turned around to look back at Phineas. The man was standing in his frame, his hand braced against the edge, his eyes were glossy, and his voice had sounded like it might break. He opened his mouth twice as if to say something but faltered both times. Then he clenched his jaw tightly, his eyes meeting Snape’s fiercely and he nodded once firmly. Snape swallowed as something ached deep within his heart. Then he nodded in return, twisting on his heel once more before he made his way into his quarters with Nasir directly behind him.

Snape shut and warded the door behind them with a flick of his hand. He flicked it again to lite the fire and illuminate the room as he made his way to the center of the open space before turning to face Nasir.

“What do I need to do?” Snape asked, fighting to keep his voice steady as his hands remained clenched at his sides.

“I assume you are familiar with rune carvings?” Nasir said indifferently as he moved toward the two chairs that sat facing each other before the fire and began removing his outer robes.

“Yes,” Snape felt the hollow empty in his chest grow deeper.

“Good – take a seat,” Nasir gestured to the opposite chair and then summoned the floor length mirror that Snape had tucked into the corner of the room over toward them.

Snape moved stiffly across the room, his legs feeling heavy like lead as he forced himself to sit in the chair to the right of the man. It had briefly crossed his mind to kill the man to get out of his debt – but the thought was fleeting at best. The truth was, Nasir added more value than harm and his own life was more expendable – in fact it was rather worthless. There was no need to try and save it, it would be foolish and shortsighted, and he was in this for the long game.

He watched quietly as the tall man pulled out a silver dagger – one that had likely not been seen by anyone else alive since the experiment. They’d only made 21 of them after all and only 5 of them had returned to the world of the living. He’d pulled out paper and a strange looking pen and was using the small table between them as a surface to write on. He quickly covered the paper with runes and three other symbols that Snape did not recognize. They weren’t runes – they were something else entirely, which he supposed made sense. Rune carving, as far as he knew – could not be used to take a portion of one’s soul. As disturbing as it was to watch the process unfold and as much as he knew it was going to be excruciatingly painful, he couldn’t help but watch with a sort of morbid fascination.

He’d never seen it before – though he had researched it extensively in his youth and had even contemplated using it several times in the past.

Nasir left the paper on the table, turning towards Snape and outstretching his hand. “Right forearm.”

It was an order and Snape obeyed. Without hesitation Snape unbuttoned the cuff of his wrinkled white dress shirt and rolled up the sleeve, exposing his pale white flesh and extending it to the man before him. Nasir’s warm hand closed around it and before Snape could even begin to wonder what he was going to do Nasir summoned his silver dagger to his hand and drew a straight clean line through his flesh. Snape didn’t flinch, it was nothing compared to what he’d endured in the past and he simply watched indifferently as blood spilled from the wound. Nasir grabbed his wand, using it to collect a portion of blood into a small floating sphere before tracing his finger over the cut – it closed into a silver line before he removed his hold from Snape’s arm and stepped away.

Snape’s eye’s flicked to the new scar that decorated his arm. Perhaps the dagger had a counter spell – something like _Vulnera_ _Sanentur_ was to _Sectumsempra_. He was unaware of any healing spell that could close a wound that efficiently otherwise – typically dittany would be required.

His eyes moved back to Nasir and he watched as the man moved before the mirror, the blood floating next to him as he began undoing the buttons on his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves to reveal tanned skin laced with thin silver scars. Then he began to unbutton the front of his black dress shirt to expose his chest, a lattice work of silver traced across his skin as if the man had been diced up and sewn back together. Feeling uncomfortable with the scene before him Snape made to turn his eyes away only to stiffen in his seat when the man traced a finger down his chest and black symbols appeared across his skin. He felt his eyes widen and he couldn’t look away from the sight before him – like the silver dagger he doubted that anyone alive had seen this.

The man was covered in black runes. They ran down his body in three straight rows from collarbone to mid-torso. Some seemed to be single markings while others appeared to be a string of several runes spaced closer together as if carved in a sequence at one time – he counted twelve in total, and he felt his mouth go dry. He’d heard of people taking one or two, he’d even heard of witches and wizards in the past who’d accepted up to half a dozen. But he’d never read any documentation that suggested someone could have a _dozen_ runes carved into their soul.

Snape sat immobile, watching transfixed as the man summoned his wand and pointed it at the unmarked section of his chest – directly above his heart. He uttered words that Snape did not know and a string of black symbols spun from his wand, travelling through the sphere of his blood then sinking into his skin as bright red characters. They spun into a small almost rectangular shape across his skin, enclosing the section of unmarked flesh.

Then Nasir turned back to the table and grabbed the paper and dagger. He wrapped the dagger in the paper, sandwiching it between his hands before him and uttering more unknown words before the entire thing burst into flames, burning away the paper to leave a glowing red dagger in his hands. He moved back before the mirror and raised the burning blade to his skin.

Snape felt himself tense, he didn’t know what would come next and by all accounts of the reading that he’d done – no one _ever_ gave a fucking rune carving to themselves. Yet unbelievably the blade sank carefully into his skin and he proceeded to carve three small runes into his flesh. With each precise cut blood ran down his body but his face remained impassive and his movements unshaken until finally, _Fehu_ , _Jera_ and _Mannaz_ stood like bloody scripture in a neat column down his chest as the blood continued to run.

He seemed completely indifferent to it, completely unphased as the markings bled. He simply moved back to the chair that held his robes to draw out a second sheet of paper.

“I thought that was supposed to be excruciating,” Snape said hoarsely, his eyes locked to every movement that the man before him made.

Nasir placed the burning blade on the table with the second sheet of paper and turned toward him.

“It is,” he said darkly, his eyes glinting. “ _If_ you have a soul.”

“I see,” Snape said tightly, his jaw clenching once more. He knew the _Revenant_ were soulless, he knew that was what people had said – yet somehow seeing the proof of that left him feeling uneasy and his mind continued to ponder. “So then the runes did nothing – the whole premise of the carving is to complete an exchange. How can they work if you’ve nothing to exchange for them?”

The markings on the man’s body had begun to hiss and darken, the red that ran down his chest becoming marked with streaks of black.

“I will feel it later,” Nasir said, his eyes darkening as the hissing grew louder. He went silent for a moment his eyes watching Snape carefully before he spoke once more. “This is merely a summoning target for the piece of your soul I plan to take.”

Snape felt his heart falter in his chest as the words clicked in his brain. “You’re not taking it now.”

“No,” a dark look crept over Nasir’s face. “I only plan to split it tonight – I will call for it when I need it.”

“So you've marked runes into a _piece_ of soul that you don't even have yet,” Snape said slowly. “And you're going to mark up my remaining piece too.”

Snape stared at the man in disbelief – he didn’t even have the soul yet and he was already spending it, using it, tainting it. Was this the reason why he’d asked for it? Was this what he did? He’d spent so much of himself that now he had to go and take from others so he could continue in whatever his pursuit was? Was this his currency?

Snape felt his body tighten. He would be left with nothing. He would be left with a hollow fucking fragmented piece of his former self and an enormous weight on his chest. He could feel his agitation growing, it was shooting down his spine like the beginning of a migraine. He knew that he was going to die in the end and he didn’t even care that he was giving a piece of himself away – what he cared about was that he _did_ need to fucking function until his role was over. Would he even be able to fulfill his role after this man carved him up?

Nasir stared at him as if reading his thoughts, the interest still radiating from his eyes as he spoke. “The soul is more resilient than most realize.”

Snape clenched his jar harder. Was that supposed to make him feel better? Was that supposed to make him think that this was okay? That he would be _fine_ after?

“When are you planning to _call_ for it?” Snape asked tightly

“Soon.”

“And what will happen when you summon the piece that you split?”

“It will be painful,” Nasir said slowly, his eyes moving over Snape’s face. “Hopefully – you will be some place safe when it occurs as it is unlikely that you will stay conscious.”

Snape’s back stiffened and his hand tightened its hold on the arm of the chair. His anger was burning now, his agitation transformed into full-fledged flaring irritation. Terrifying as this man might be Snape was used to being in the presence of unearthly deadly creatures and as much as he needed him his patience was wearing thin. He was already giving this man _everything_ the least he could do was tell him when a part of his soul would be ripped from his body. Snape stood from his chair, his eyes darkening as he glared at the man before him.

“You understand that I do have a _job_ , don’t you?” Snape said tightly as his eyes narrowed into slits and his words became a darkened angry snarl. “That I am a Headmaster, a Death Eater, a Spy and a fucking babysitter for Potter and Granger. I am summoned every other day by the Dark Lord and I am at constant risk of being attacked in this fucking castle while trying to prevent two insane sadists from killing half of the school’s population. I’m perfectly willing to give you a piece of my soul – I _told_ you that I would give you _whatever_ you wanted and I _will _follow through on our deal. I will _happily_ die for this war but _not_ until I’ve played my part. _Surely_ you can give me _some_ indication as to when you plan to rip a piece of my _being_ from my body!”

The newly carved marks on Nasir’s chest had gone quiet, each symbol now jet black against his tanned skin. Nasir’s eyes practically shone as he stepped toward Snape, closing the distance so they were less than a foot apart. Snape stood rigid in his place, glaring at the man before him as his hands clenched at his sides. He wouldn’t fucking react and he wouldn’t back down on this – not now. He wasn’t asking for much. He wasn’t asking for a chance to live or to barter on his dues. He just wanted the chance to finish his job. Nasir stared at him for a long moment, his piercing eyes digging into him almost painfully as the silence stretched between them. Then a dark smile curled across his lips once more and he leaned forward, his face so uncomfortably close to Snape’s he could feel his cold breath on the side of his cheek.

“Likely – Monday,” Nasir’s low voice rumbled. “I suggest that you take the morning off.”

He lingered too close for too long, until discomfort shot down Snape’s spine like needles and the man’s step backward felt like a physical relief of pressure.

“Thank you,” Snape said tightly, his eyes still locked to the man as he moved back to the table and vanished the red and black blood from his chest.

Snape stood watching as the man followed a similar procedure once more – picking up the pen, covering the second page, drawing blood from his own arm and collecting it into a small sphere before sealing the wound. He could feel the tension growing in his body as he knew what was coming, but then surprisingly Nasir moved back to his robes and drew out a small vial, pausing briefly before he held it out to him. Snape carefully took the vial, turning it over in his hand to see thin wispy black tendrils circling inside it. It almost looked like memories except that the colour was wrong and they moved in a much more sporadic and jerky nature.

“What is this?” Snape asked, looking back up to the man who stood before him.

“That final thing that I will ask of you,” Nasir said slowly, his entire body was impossibly rigid as his eyes latched intently to Snape’s gaze. “You will store that, safely, and when this war is over, assuming that they are successful – you will give that to Hermione.”

Snape’s eye’s flicked down to the vial once more. “And what if I die first?”

“Then they would not have been successful,” Nasir’s voice had dropped to a low rumble. “As you’ve said Severus – you have a role to play, you have things to do and you are not to die until it is time – until the end. Not a moment before you are sure that they are about to succeed. Do _not_ open that. Store it somewhere now – then we must finish this.”

Snape nodded stiffly, making his way to his secret storage compartment by the bed and locking away the vial before returning to the tall tanned man.

“What do you need me to do?” Snape asked as he came to stand a few feet away from him once more.

“Unbutton your shirt,” Nasir said indifferently as he turned to pick up his wand once more.

“I was under the impression that rune carvings were almost impossible to complete successfully without help,” Snape said quietly, his hands moving to the buttons on his shirt, undoing them one by one. It was in moments like this that he was almost thankful for the life that he’d led – it had given him a deeper strength. An ability to look at death indifferently and without fear. His fingers were steady, unyielding, they moved deftly and his body was still despite the weight of what was about to happen.

“They are,” Nasir said slowly. “But thanks to Hermione and Harry – I have a way around that now.”

Snape’s hands froze over his last button, his eyes darting back up to the man before him.

What did that mean? Had he given them runes? Had he worked with them on developing a way to implement runes on others – to stop the aggressive flailing and screaming? Or had Granger and Potter actually managed to _teach_ him something that he could use?

“What did you do?”

Nasir simply stared at him, his eyes glinting before he spoke. “You’re going to want to lay down on the floor – otherwise I can’t guarantee that this will work.”

-x-x-

**Shell Cottage**

“Harry, why does the wizarding community use blood replenishing potions?”

“Because magical signatures are not all compatible,” Harry answered his eyes watching the tall man before them. Nasir had only just arrived and yet he’d immediately asked the question. “Similar to muggles, direct blood transfusions can be deadly if the donor does not match the recipient, plus the effects of directly transferring magical blood into another being is permanent – it’s different from when blood is used in a potion or in combination with other magic.”

This Harry was immensely familiar with. He’d researched blood magic a great deal with Hermione over the winter when they were looking into the bonding magic. Based on his readings, he’d actually suspected that he and Voldemort were compatible – though he’d never spoken about that to anyone, it was just a suspicion based on the fact that Voldemort had been able to easily use his blood to create his new body. Yes – it had been done as part of a potion, so it was not exactly the same as a direct transfusion. Still though – they seemed to share a strange connection and it had only gotten stronger after he’d taken a physical form. Harry had always wondered if it was related to the fact that a part of him was now _inside_ Voldemort and would be forever.

Magical direct blood transfusions resulted in a bizarre mix of magical signatures and the effects, while known to be permanent, were not well researched. There was a reason why someone had invented the blood replenishing potion – many witches and wizards adamantly refused direct transfusion in the past because they didn’t want to deal with the lifelong lingering effects of having someone else’s magic flowing through their body.

“So what did witches and wizards do before the potion was invented?” Nasir asked, his eyes glinting as he watched Harry.

“They used to test not only for blood compatibility but also magical compatibility – though finding a match was difficult,” Harry answered again, his eyes flicking to Hermione who was watching him with a small smile. “And many of them refused it anyways due to the long-term effects. So often, they would just bleed out.”

“Exactly,” Nasir said as he stepped forward. “Though it seems ridiculous that a witch or wizard should die from blood loss. Which is why today I will teach you two spells that could save your lives. The first slows your heart to the minimum required beats to keep you alive – it will slow the loss of blood to buy you time, but it is never to be used in combination with an antivenom or asthma potion or spell. The second – is to test for blood and magical compatibility. While some may think that they do not wish to deal with the lingering effects of a direct transfusion – your opinion might change if your life is truly on the line.”

Nasir immediately turned on his heel and began making his way to their sand dune. Harry looked to Hermione with a raised eyebrow and then they both turned and followed diligently behind him. They spent the next two hours learning how to cast the spells and cutting their palms open with their daggers to test their compatibility.

As it turned out Harry was compatible with Hermione – but neither of them were compatible with Fleur, who had been kind enough to allow them to trial the spell on her for practice when she’d brought them dinner later that night. Oddly, Nasir had refused to allow them to practice on him entirely – which was a first in their training thus far. He let them cast raging bouts of fire at his face, he let them attempt to stab him with their daggers and yet he seemed uninterested in knowing if they were magically compatible.

The rest of the afternoon had been spent working on controlling said raging fire and this time, miraculously, neither one of them had gotten burnt. Harry’s sweater, while smelling strongly of burnt ash, remained un-marked and Hermione had been able to stop her small fire on her own for the very first time.

The week progressed at a steady pace, each day similar to the last and following the same structure. They woke early, ate, completed their workout and training regime as Fleur, Luna, Dean and shockingly Ron (despite being injured) trailed along behind them and completed a similar but modified routine. Nasir arrived every day at noon and taught them relentlessly for the full afternoon until dinner. Then they returned to the cottage and continued teaching the members of the Order how to cast their shields.

Mrs. Weasley had not been present on Tuesday night, Ron had come but refrained from trialing the spell and instead focused on further mastering the verbal and wand motions separately. Both Harry and Hermione left him on his own unless he specifically requested pointers and by the end of the second night almost everyone had been able to send out purple sparks – and Remus and Fleur were able to hold their shields for a full two minutes.

Wednesday night had been somewhat surprising as both Fred and George had shown up and Mrs. Weasley had returned. Which had clearly not been planned as it only added more tension to the already tight air of the room and resulted in a rather colorful explosion.

“Harry – Hermione!” the twin’s voices rang out in unison, matching wide smiles splitting across their faces when Harry trudged into the cottage with Hermione and Nasir. Not everyone had gathered yet and Mrs. Weasley was standing in the kitchen with Arthur close at her side.

“Fred – George,” Harry couldn’t help but grin as he saw the twins, moving toward them but stopping a few feet short with Hermione at his side while Nasir seemed to melt into his usual spot along the wall. “I’m glad that you guys came.”

The twins seemed to quickly pick up on several observations at once, their eyes darting between Harry and Hermione, the closeness between them, their hair, their clothes, the smell of burned grass that radiated from their bodies and the space that the two of them left between themselves and everyone else around them. It was like watching a download of information happening and Harry was reminded just how different the twins were from their brother. Sharp, intelligent, quick witted – he could see their eyes narrow as they digested the information and then, their smiles widened broadly in wholehearted acceptance.

“Nice haircut,” Fred grinned at Harry, not making a move toward him like he would have in the past and instead maintaining the distance between them and gesturing with his head. “Very devil-may-care.”

“But not quite as badass as Hermione,” George said with an equally wide grin. “Tell me – who have you been trying to burn down? Another old pureblood family that has been mistreating house-elves?”

Harry snorted as Hermione’s eyes narrowed.

“Perhaps,” she said in a low dark voice before a grin split across her face too. It couldn’t be helped, the twins were infectious and their blatant open acceptance rivaled that of Luna’s. “It’s the first thing on my list once this war is over. How have you two been?”

“Well,” Fred smiled. “Desperate to know what’s been going on – to know how you two were, but dad has been pretty closed lipped on everything so far. We weren’t sure when we’d see you again.”

“We’ve been helping the Order when we can but keeping up appearances in Diagon Alley while funneling supplies to the DA at school has been eating up a lot of our time. Ginny sends us a list of what they need, and we sneak it in,” George said quietly, dropping his voice a fraction.

“You’re in touch with Ginny?” Harry asked taking a step forward. “We figured that she got the DA back together based on the map, but we didn’t have any details.”

“How is she?” Hermione asked, dropping her voice lower as well.

“She’s okay,” Fred said, his voice a bit tight. “She and Neville have been orchestrating everything at the school with some help from a few of the teachers and other students.”

“Susan is okay too,” George said as Harry opened his mouth to ask. “They worry about you two a lot – I’ll send word to them that we’ve verified you’re alive and healthy – but don’t worry we won’t say anything else.”

“Good,” Harry nodded, feeling a tightness in his chest. It was so easy to get caught up in the war. For him to lose himself with the tasks that he and Hermione were desperately trying to complete – it was easy to forget about everyone else. It was like he’d said to Hermione Monday night. They needed to remember _why_ they were doing this and as uncomfortable as it made him to be surrounded by all these people it was the perfect reminder. It was painful, stressful, it set his nerves on edge and made his body riddled with tension – but it was good for him. For them. They needed this.

“Susan Bones?” Hermione asked quietly, her eyes darting between Harry and the twins.

“Yeah,” Harry turned and smiled at her – he’d never told her who Ginny was with when they’d discussed everything. It felt like years ago know but he could see the smile creeping onto Hermione’s face once more as he confirmed her question with a nod.

“They’re perfect,” Hermione said quietly, her eyes softening in a way that Harry had not seen for weeks.

“They really are,” Fred grinned.

“So you’re sending supplies to the school – how are you getting them there?” Harry asked.

“Aberforth,” they said in unison.

“Dumbledore’s brother?” Hermione asked in disbelief.

“Yeah – there is a secret passage that runs from his place in Hogsmeade to the castle. He used to send Dobby to our flat to collect the supplies and then Neville and the other DA members would go collect the goods but he hasn’t been able to find–“ Fred went silent as he took in the quiet tight expression that passed over Harry’s face.

“Dobby saved our lives at Malfoy Manor,” Harry said quietly. “He didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry,” George said tightly, and being gracious enough not to ask for details on the Manor. “We looked for him everywhere I – we didn’t know that Aberforth sent him to you.”

“We didn’t know it was Aberforth that sent him,” Hermione said quietly.

Harry felt Hermione’s hand reach for his and he gripped her tightly as his chest tightened at the thought of Dobby. He didn’t miss the tight expression that swept over Mrs. Weasley’s face from the other side of the room as her eyes locked to their joined hands, or the way she began making her way over.

“He was the best elf,” Fred said tightly, nodding his head. “I’m sorry Harry.”

Harry nodded, his mouth drawing into a tight line as he ignored Mrs. Weasley’s approach. “Have you been able to re-establish a way to move the goods?”

“Sort of – it’s a bit rudimentary but it will work,” Fred replied with a tight smile, then his expression softened, and he looked at them intently. “If the two of you ever need anything just let us know and I’m sure we can find a way to get it to you.”

“We brought a few supplies for you tonight,” George added, a small laugh breaking into his voice. “Though from the looks of things – it seems like you’ve got it covered.”

“You two look intense,” Fred added, the expression on his face becoming a look of appreciative awe mixed with light humor. “We might actually stand a chance now.”

“Oh we will definitely take the supplies if you can spare them,” Hermione grinned beside him, clearly ignoring Mrs. Weasley’s approach as well. “Your products are highly effective – we used them for our Ministry break- in.”

“Really?!” the twin’s eyes went wide with excitement. “We read about that in the paper and were wondering how you–“

“Am I the only one who is concerned with the consequences of what is going on here!?” Mrs. Weasley’s sharp voice cut through the air, silencing her sons and the entire room. “Why does it seem like everyone is encouraging this?!”

Harry felt Hermione’s grip on his hand tighten as they both resisted the urge to groan. Harry could feel the tension creeping into his spine as he finally looked toward Mrs. Weasley. Most of the others had arrived and Harry saw Luna, Dean and Ron slow in their descent down the stairs into the living room as Mrs. Weasley looked around in flustered irritation. Remus paused on his way through the door of the cottage, Arthur looked like he was about ready to face palm himself in exhaustion and Fleur simply twitched up a disapproving brow as Mrs. Weasley gestured between the twins and Harry and Hermione.

“Harry – Hermione,” the woman said tightly as she turned back to face them, her voice growing louder as her anger spun and her desperation poured out. “What are you two doing? Every time I see you – you smell like you’ve been in the middle of a raging fire! You’re cold, distant – avoiding your friends – you’re training with _that_ man?! You’re teaching people a spell that can _kill_ people – where did you even learn it!? And then I found out yesterday that you two were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor – that you were tortured and Hermione, you nearly lost your arm! What is going on?!”

“Molly!” Arthur’s voice cut through the air as he started to approach his wife. “We already discussed this – it’s none of–“

“I don’t _CARE_ what we discussed Arthur!!” Mrs. Weasley turned and yelled at her husband. “They are just _KIDS_! The level of their involvement is inappropriate! It’s bad enough that you refuse to stop your own daughter from the ridiculous stunts she’s pulling at school but now you’re encouraging what Harry and Hermione are doing!”

“They’re _not_ ridiculous stunts!” George turned to his mother, as irritation rang from his voice. “You do understand that she is solely responsible for saving the lives of three first year students – that she, Neville and Susan stopped the Carrows from cutting off a girl's arm _AND_ that they’ve prevented the violent torture of nearly three dozen students!”

“At what risk!?” Mrs. Weasley spat out. “She’s sticking her neck out and possibly making it worse – she is antagonizing them! She is baiting them! She’s on her own there and we _can’t_ extract her without getting everyone killed – soon the bloody Carrows will be after her head!”

“She’s not _on her own_ ,” Fred said as a look of dark resentful anger crossed his face. “She’s with Susan and the two of them are more than capable of –“

“Oh would you _stop_ bringing her into this like it isn’t just some passing phase!” Mrs. Weasley all but screeched at her son. “This entire thing is a mess! People are letting this war influence their reason and they’re behaving desperately – making stupid decisions without thinking things through! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“ _I_ don’t know what I’m talking about?!” Fred spat as his anger flared to a new level, he sounded like something within him had broken. “How the _fuck_ would you know that! Did you ever think that maybe I might _understand_ what she’s going through?! This _isn’t_ a phase! You need to get over that fact before you lose her forever – and it won’t be because of the war! She and Susan are doing what is _necessary_ – there is a reason why the professors are _helping_ them!”

Mrs. Weasley’s eyes had widened at Fred’s words but Harry saw her shaking her head in disbelief.

“Molly,” Arthur’s voice was dark. “You need to–“

“That is exactly my point!” Mrs. Weasley yelled, her anger flaring once more as she refused to accept what Fred had said, she refused to acknowledge the meaning of his words. “ _Why_ are the teachers allowing the students to engage?! Why is no one else concerned about what our _children_ are doing – why is _everyone_ in this room encouraging Harry and Hermione down a path of blatant _dark_ morality! What will be left of them when this is all over?!”

“Nothing,” Harry’s cold dark voice rang out and Mrs. Weasley turned to stare at him wide-eyed as the room fell quiet. His patience had worn thin the second the women had opened her mouth and he clenched Hermione’s hand to keep his anger at bay.

He looked at her hard, his expression cold and emotionless except for a trace of disgust. He’d always loved Mrs. Weasley like a mother. She’d always been kind to him and he could understand why she was upset. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have _seven_ children, raise them, love them, watch them grow, practically adopt himself and Hermione, protect them with everything she had and then be asked to step aside – to allow these lives that she’d protected for years to face death and adversity. He couldn’t imagine how painful it must be for her to watch as her husband and children willingly put their necks out – willingly stepped to the plate all while knowing that it might be their last day.

He understood – but she was wrong in how she chose to deal with it, and it was affecting the Order.

It was affecting his friends' emotional and mental wellbeing and therefore it was affecting their ability to succeed. He couldn’t afford to have Arthur dealing with this shit, not Fred, not George, not Ginny – not anyone. Everyone needed to be at their absolute best.

Enough was enough.

“It’s very likely, Mrs. Weasley – that nothing will be left,” Harry said slowly, his voice dropping to a dark low tone. “I am perfectly well aware of what I’m doing – as is Hermione. I’m aware of what I’m giving. I understand the consequences of my actions – I _know_ that there is a good chance that I will die in this war and if I somehow don’t, I know that what’s left of me will be damaged and broken. I _know_ this and I’ve accepted it.”

“We both have,” Hermione’s voice was cold and emotionless at his side. “It’s a price that we are willing to pay to win so that everyone else can be free. You were in the last war Mrs. Weasley – surely you understand that victory does not come without sacrifice.”

Mrs. Weasley’s face tightened at the words as her body went rigid. Harry knew that she’d lost her brothers in the last war and it was undoubtably what Hermione was referencing.

“I _understand_ that it must be difficult for you to watch the people that you love risking their lives,” Harry’s voice became harder. “But their lives will be in danger whether they are actively involved or not. As long as _You know who_ exists their lives will always be at risk and he’s not going to just roll over and die – we will only succeed in defeating him if we are willing to do what is necessary. _Ginny_ understands that. She is willing to do what she must, and you should be proud of her – support her, help her so that she stands a better chance of survival because the more you try to drag her away from this the more vulnerable she’ll be.

“ _Everyone_ here – _except_ _you_ – has accepted what we _must_ do to succeed. Everyone here has accepted the risks associated with what I’m teaching them because in the end the risk is worth it. It could save their life and it could mean the difference between success and failure at a critical moment,” Harry shook his head, a low hollow laugh leaving his chest. “You all kept asking me what it was that Dumbledore sent me to do – what our _secret_ mission is, and yet here I am _telling_ you what is necessary to complete that mission, and you don’t want to hear it. I can’t tell you what Hermione and I are doing but I can tell you that _this_ – is _required_. And without it – I promise you – we _will_ lose.

“I understand that this is hard for you Mrs. Weasley – you’re not the only one struggling with the situation but you _are_ the only one making it into a problem,” Harry dropped Hermione’s hand and took a small step toward the woman, lowering his voice to a dark whisper. “We are in the middle of a war and I can’t have you wasting everyone’s time – it’s not personal Mrs. Weasley and this may be difficult for you to hear so I apologize for that – but your behaviour isn’t fair to everyone else who has come to terms with the situation and are willing to do what it takes. I may have changed, and I’m sorry that it’s hard for you to accept – but I still care about the safety of everyone in this room and I am _trying_ to prepare them so that they can be _safe_ throughout this war.

“But you are disrupting the Order and endangering their lives, which I will not tolerate, so this will be the only warning that you get. Either accept the reality of the situation and complete the training without disturbing the group – _or,_ I will personally remove you from this cottage, you will _not_ return, and you will sit out the remainder of this war in silence at the Burrow so that you stop endangering the people around you,” Harry watched as Mrs. Weasley’s jaw tightened, her eyes wide as she stared at him in shock disbelief. “I don’t think I need to tell you that no one will try to stop me – so make your choice, I don’t have all night.”

-x-x-

**April 7, 1998**

**Hogwarts 8:07 pm**

Snape moved stiffly to the bathroom in his quarters, he felt like an erumpent was sitting on his chest and he found it incredibly difficult to breathe. Though somehow, against all odds, he was alive and had not died in his sleep. He had been sort of hoping that he would since everything hurt so fucking bad. But of course he would not be so lucky.

He could feel it in his neck, his head, his toes, his ankles, his bones, his _blood_ – his chest ached and every muscle in his body seemed to be pulled and strained. The dull stream of light that poured through his window told him it was some time after dinner, he’d not left his room since Nasir had disappeared in the wee hours of the early morning and he had no idea what had happened in the castle that day. Though it hardly felt like it mattered. Not after what had happened – he was just grateful that Phineas had remained quiet and had not called him. He suspected that the wizard was either fending off Dumbledore’s angry ranting or had abandoned the castle frame in its entirety just to escape the nagging.

His lips twitched at the thought. He would need to thank Phineas some day – in a strange way the dead wizard had become the closest thing to a friend that he had over the last few months – or in the very least Phineas had become a good partner in the war.

Snape stumbled into the large bathroom with a groan and flicked his finger to light the room with a dim glow. Despite the fact that it was healed a dull ache radiated from his femur where Nasir had broken it during the rune carving – it hadn’t been intentional, it had just happened. It was just one of the many broken bones he’d been riddled with after the burning had stopped.

He supposed it wasn’t the worst thing in the world compared to how things could have gone. There was a reason why in the past rune carvings were conducted by several people, as it was nearly impossible for the person completing the physical carving to hold the body of the recipient still enough. In the few cases that Snape had read about it being done by a single person, often the runes were carved incorrectly – too messy, or too deep and the carving ended poorly.

Yet Nasir had managed it.

It turned out that Potter and Granger had been working with tethering spells – which Nasir had apparently found fascinating and discovered a new use for them. He could use them as a means to control someone’s body during a rune carving so that he didn’t need additional hands. He couldn’t tether the person directly as the magic would interfere with the carving – but he could tether an object on top of the person to the floor. _And_ he could fucking kneel in the middle of the person’s chest, tethering his own knee to the ground through the recipient so that they couldn’t move. While additionally painful, it had proved to be an effective restraint.

Snape groaned as he pulled off the shirt and pants that he’d somehow managed to change into before passing out on his bed for fifteen hours straight. Once the runes had been completed and while Snape had been half-conscious Nasir had vanished the blood from his body, healed his broken bones and then told him to go to sleep. He’d hardly needed the instruction – he’d barely been able to keep his eyes open or stand straight when the man had pulled him to his feet.

He’d watched with bleary eyes as the man made his way to the window, nodding in farewell as if their meeting had been a normal occurrence for him and then casually stepping out the large opening as if it wasn’t several hundred feet in the air. Yet despite his ragged exhaustion and agony Snape had not wanted to pass out in the clothes that he had on. In fact, he’d never wanted to see them again. So he’d fought against his urge to pass out as a heavy weight crushed on his chest, he’d stripped the clothes from his body and thrown them into the fire before summoning new ones.

Now staring at his dim reflection in the bathroom mirror he felt his shoulders slump. Two black runes, in stark contrast to his pale white skin sat in a neat column down his chest, encircled by a crimson red border of symbols that contained his fractured soul.

Two pieces.

He could practically feel it in his chest. He could tell it wasn’t whole despite the fact that they were both still there. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was going to feel like to have the smaller piece ripped from his body. Experiencing the break had been bad enough. It had been embedded with the carving process, completed right after the first rune was cut. When Nasir had cleaved it into two neat pieces, he’d thought that he was dying, he’d thought that it was over – his vision had spotted with red before it went completely black and he’d passed out in agony only to be woken by the man above him and told to breathe.

Which had been really fucking hard to do because Nasir’s knee was pressed so hard into his sternum it had cracked right through it. The bones might be healed now but a deep bruise had formed just to the left of the runes. He could heal it. He could use some of the balm from his storage – yet he didn’t have the energy to make himself summon the container. It hardly seemed to even matter – it was just superficial damage. Though perhaps if he healed the deep bruises it would make breathing easier.

He let out a heavy sigh that burned his torn throat, his eyes looked dead as he stared at himself before shifting his eyes back to the two symbols on his pale chest.

 _Hagalaz_ and _Mannaz_.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why Nasir had selected those two for the process. He was frankly thankful that the third one hadn’t been required. He might not have made it through a third rune – then again, after the first one he’d thought surely the second would kill him. It hadn’t. He’d lived.

Barely - he'd never felt so cold and hollow.

Snape’s eyes traced slowly down his body to the blunt black ink image that marred the forearm of his left arm and his chest tightened further. His eyes closed tightly as he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breathe.

“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured hoarsely to himself, biting back the wave of nauseous despair that radiated from his chest before turning to the shower and walking to it stiffly.

He flicked his finger, turning on the water and cranking the heat before stepping inside. It burned, but it woke his senses and forced the muscles in his pain riddled body to loosen as the water ran over his frame. He stood there for a long time, hands braced against the wall for fear of his legs giving out, staring at the drain as his sopping wet hair hung heavy on either side of his face. The only thing that kept him calm were the two small thoughts that circled in his head:

 _We might actually win this now_ , he breathed. _Thank Merlin the Dark Lord is unaware of this magic_.

In some ways, he suspected, that it could only be performed by an empty shell – and while the Dark Lord was all things evil – twisted and warped and fractured, he still had a piece of his soul. And perhaps it was those last lingering remains of his humanity that had prevented him from becoming something worse.

(To be continued…)

-x-x-

Thank you all for answering my question regarding detail level and chapter length – I’m glad to see that people are enjoying this story as is and if anything, I can push these a bit longer (yay!) which I just did ;)

Also, thank you for your kind words. You honestly have no idea how much they mean to me and how much I needed them this week. This week was… not a good week for me, and without going into too many details I had a hell of a time trying to pull myself out of a dark funk. Your words helped. So, thank you. I know things are rough so everyone right now so – it was nice to read everyone’s thoughts.

I have another question for you, if it is too personal please don’t feel obligated to answer – but:

What gets you out of bed in the mornings – what is your inspiration?

Sometimes I find it difficult to be _inspired_ and I get ‘stuck in my own head’ which is not always a nice place. I find that getting outside thoughts or opinions can help me to break away from myself (maybe that doesn’t make much sense :P) but if you feel like sharing, I’d love to know!

This week for me it was you guys :) you helped immensely.

Know that you are loved <3

Stay safe my friends.


	47. Chapter Forty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Here we go again! More training and then… off to Birmingham we go! Woot woot!  
> 2\. Please let me know what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.  
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

Hermione lunged forward, swinging her dagger, aiming for the heart and using her legs to drive her upward in one rapid push. She’d managed to close the distance by dodging and rolling and this had been her only opportunity to strike, yet her blade missed its target and she was forced to pull back quickly as she ducked and rolled to the side. She narrowly escaped the blade that swung over her head, she could feel it brushing over her hair as she dropped to a crouch and made her escape. She was panting, covered in sweat, her body was aching and screaming at her to stop but she couldn’t – there would be no break. She dodged again, rolling twice to the right this time in order to escape the attack that followed.

_Fuck!_

She could feel her frustration growing tight like a coil in the center of her chest as she continued to dodge, only managing to make two small attempted attacks as she retreated and tried to gain some distance. She couldn’t keep up. She could hardly breathe and with her left arm tethered to her side she was severely disadvantaged. She wouldn’t be able to land a hit, it was impossible, she was going to lose.

She was going to get hit.

He was too fast, too strong – she was no match for him.

Knowing that there was nothing else she could do Hermione rolled forward under the blade that swung over her head once more, popping up to her feet quickly, her eyes meeting the glinting dark ones before her as she silently cast a full body binding curse. For a fraction of a second she thought that she’d gotten away with it and then three things happened so rapidly her mind was barely able to process it. His glinting black eyes twitched to a narrowed gaze; she felt the familiar tug of three tethers across her body and suddenly her feet were ripped out from underneath her. She was yanked forward, her chest colliding with the ground hard and crushing the air from her lungs in a loud painful grunt. Her cheek smashed against the surface and she instantly felt the bite of the cold metal blade on the back of her neck as his knee pressed hard into her spine.

“I thought I said no magic,” the familiar rich baritone echoed behind her head.

If she’d had any air left in her lungs Hermione would have groaned in frustration and rolled her eyes at the man that was currently pinning her body to the ground. But with the weight of him on her back all she could manage was a small grunt of acknowledgment before he shifted and suddenly the air came rushing back in. She felt the tethers release and she coughed as she rolled onto her back to look up at the tall dark man above her as she felt hot blood trickling down the back of her neck. She’d have yet another thin silver scar there as a result of this exercise – it would match the other two that ran along the back of her neck. Panting for air Hermione pushed herself up on her elbow and darted her eyes to Harry who was sitting on the dune to her right and watching with a single brow raised.

“He did say no magic,” Harry said as a small smile of amusement crossed his face – likely because yesterday it’d been him who Nasir had face planted into the sand.

They were both extremely grateful that they practiced on the dunes – otherwise their training injuries would likely be worse, had they been on rock or even dirt Hermione was sure that her cheek bone would have shattered when she collided with the ground. Yet instead it was simply bruised, and it could be easily healed. But this was how Nasir trained them – and injuries in knife fighting seemed to come with the territory. It was never lethal – he’d never land a blow to any important organs and technically he’d never actually _stabbed_ them, at least not deep. He would just land the odd shallow blow or break the odd bone in order to teach them how to move and when to move.

It wasn’t done out of morbid dark intent; it was never excessive or extreme and he never cut them in obvious places. She’d watched yesterday as he’d purposely pulled back his dagger at the last second to avoid clipping Harry across the face – but he’d landed a blow on his upper arm with no hesitation. It was only ever what was necessary, and he always healed them afterwards. And regardless of how much it might hurt at the time both Harry and Hermione had to admit his methods were extremely effective. At the start of the week she’d not even been able to take a single swing at him and now it was Friday and she’d just taken several.

Hermione groaned at Harry and gave him an exaggerated eye roll before she returned her eyes to Nasir, looking at him in defeat. “I _know_ that – but I couldn’t land a fucking hit. You’re too fast, I thought if I snuck in a simple body bind it might give me an advantage – you told us to use _everything_ and to be creative.”

Nasir’s eyes glinted as he looked at her before he extended his hand to her. Hermione gripped it tightly and let him pull her from the ground. She was too tired to do it herself and she stood on shaking legs before him as she continued to pant. She habitually tilted her face to the ground, her shoulders heaving as her braided hair fell to the side and exposed the back of her neck to him. She felt the familiar touch of his finger dragging across the cut he’d made, and she felt her skin sewing itself back together in a thin silver line. It was one of many that randomly marked her body now. Had she truly cared she could have healed them with dittany so that they wouldn’t leave a mark – but she didn’t want to waste any of their resources and the silver lines were so thin they were hardly noticeable anyways. Hermione let out a deep breath and raised her head once more to look at the man.

He was standing beside her and watching her carefully, his own dagger still clutched loosely in his left hand. Despite his unnatural rigidity he fought with a fluidity that made him difficult to track and he often held his dagger loosely when fighting them. It made her wonder what he might be like if he ever fought _seriously_.

“I did say that,” Nasir said slowly a small hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “But I also said not to use magic on _me_.”

Hermione’s face tightened in thought as her breath finally regulated. “So – you’re saying I should have used magic on myself or not at all.”

“When was the last time you saw a grown wizard throw a punch?” Nasir asked slowly his eyes flicking between the two of them.

Hermione’s lips twitched as an image of Arthur lunging at Lucius Malfoy in Flourish and Blotts before second year popped into her head. She could see a similar twitch across Harry’s face, and she didn’t doubt that he’d recalled the same memory as they exchanged a quick fond smile.

“Not for a long time,” Hermione said quietly. She let out a deep sigh in understanding. “You’re saying that most wizards will be prepared to fend off magic attacks – but not physical ones, so we should use that to our advantage.”

“Exactly,” Nasir's eyes darkened. “There will be times when magic is ineffective against your opponent and in those times a physical attack could make the difference between success and failure. However, if you find yourself outmatched by them physically or you need to land a quick blow be creative in how you use your magic or consider carrying a strength potion within easy reach.”

“I could have used an _ascendio_ or even a tether charm on myself to pull myself closer,” Hermione nodded and ran her free hand through her hair as she felt her shoulders relax. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Here,” Harry’s voice pulled her eyes to the right and she smiled when she saw the water bottle that he held out to her.

“Thanks,” Hermione closed the distance between them and took a long sip from the bottle before returning her gaze to Nasir. “So what’s next?”

Nasir’s eyes darkened. “We go again.”

“Again?” Hermione could hear the falter in her voice as her legs trembled beneath her. Everything hurt and she barely had the energy to stand let alone fight him again. “Now?”

“Now,” Nasir said darkly as he stepped toward them and she saw his hand tighten on his dagger in an unfamiliar way. “ _Both_ of you.”

Hermione swallowed hard, barely having enough time to drop the water bottle and summon her dagger to her hand before he was upon them both.

-x-x-

Hermione’s hands shook as she accepted the plate that Fleur held out to her and uttered her thanks. Her shaking matched the tremble that seemed to inhabit Harry’s body and she knew that it was completely unrelated to her nerve damage. They were _exhausted_. She was drenched in sweat, her pant leg was burned again, her clothes were dirty, and Harry looked like he’d walked out of an explosion. She could smell the burning that radiated off their clothes and yet somehow Nasir looked almost untouched.

Almost.

For the first time that entire week he’d removed his outer robes and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his collar. She could see a slight sheen of sweat across his skin and it made it look like he’d actually put in effort during their training. Which she supposed he must have in some way since he’d fended off the two of them for an hour before returning to teaching them how to control _fiendfyre_.

Though the two undone buttons were nothing in comparison to the small cut in his shirt on the right side, along his ribs about halfway up his torso. Her eyes latched to it as she ate her food, she found it hard to look away from as the sight seemed impossible and miraculous – it was as if her brain could not process it. She could still feel the tug against her dagger when it had caught against his skin, splitting it open and spattering her shirt with red.

She’d done that.

She’d landed a hit on him while Harry had attacked from the opposite side. The success of her blow had startled her so much that when it had happened, she’d lost her concentration. Her eyes had gone wide as the blood flew before her and her feet had faltered – which had resulted in her being promptly elbowed in the ribs and grabbed by the neck before getting slammed to the ground for the second time that day.

Still though, she couldn’t help but feel like it was a success. Even if Harry did have to heal her nose after while Nasir stitched up his split side.

Hermione leaned on Harry contently as she ate quietly and allowed her mind to roll over their work with the raging flames. For the first time all week Harry had been able to control them, and she’d successfully demonstrated her ability to keep control for the third time that week. The fire burned in a way she’d never seen before, with a heat that she’d never experienced. It was terrifying and yet it felt… powerful.

The force behind it was incredible, it was horrifying, formidable, dangerous – she could feel it throughout her entire body when she cast it and it took everything that she had to control the monstrous beast that erupted from her wand and tore across the small enclosed sand dune that Nasir had established. The flames took the shape of violent creatures as it burned though she’d yet to figure out exactly what hers was. Harry’s appeared to be a snake of some sort and she knew that it bothered him. She knew that he’d been contemplating his connection with Voldemort since they’d resumed their discussion on Horcrux hunting and finding out the shape of his fiendfyre only seemed further his suspicion that he was connected to Voldemort in some way deeper than what Dumbledore had revealed. They’d discussed it the night before but everything at this point was nothing more than speculation – though something about the whole situation sat heavy on her chest.

It didn’t feel right.

She groaned heavily when she hauled herself from the ground and smiled when Harry cast a quick cleaning charm over them both before they made their way back up to the cottage with Nasir. He’d been doing it ever since Mrs. Weasley’s explosion on Wednesday night since it removed at least some of the smell of burning fire from their clothes and it seemed to settle some of the unease in the cottage.

Tonight would be the final training night with the Order, tomorrow would be the final meeting before the attack and Sunday they’d all agreed to take the day off to rest and prepare. The next few days would be tense, busy and stressful. Tomorrow morning before Nasir showed up for training, she was going to work on trackers for everyone to take with them on the mission. They’d give her a feed on everyone’s vitals, and they allowed for single words to be passed between them so that they could alert each other if they ran into trouble or needed to request backup. She planned to magically adhere them to everyone’s bodies so that there was absolutely no chance of them being lost in battle. She hadn’t told anyone about this plan yet and she didn’t know how it would go over – though she didn’t really care. It wasn’t optional and _everyone_ was getting one.

Including Nasir – though he was the _only_ one who had a shot of getting away from it.

Harry had made it abundantly clear on Wednesday night that despite the fact that they were younger than almost every other Order member in that room they were to be taken seriously and they were in a lot of ways, leading the charge. Mrs. Weasley had resentfully nodded in agreement to train and while she’d kept her mouth shut for the entire rest of the evening, she’d also made her annoyance with the situation plainly obvious by the agitated looks and scowls she dished out. By the time they’d packed up that evening and everyone was heading out Hermione thought the woman’s face would be permanently stuck that way.

Somewhat surprisingly Mrs. Weasley returned on Thursday to train – though this time her demeanor was entirely different. She looked defeated in every sense of the word. Her shoulders were slumped, her eyes were almost glazed, her quiet demeanor felt eerie and the tight scowl on her face had been replaced with a look of heavy sadness and disbelief. Neither Hermione nor Harry commented on it but it seemed to unnerve the entire group. It wasn’t until this morning during their exercise routine that Hermione asked Fleur what was going on and the blonde had quietly told them the news that had shaken Mrs. Weasley to her core.

Susan Bones’s parents were found dead in their home.

Their garden.

Their driveway.

And in the park down the street.

Their bodies had been shredded into pieces, blood had soaked the floor and walls of their home and their remains had been littered across the property like someone had been throwing rose peddles at a wedding. The most disturbing part of the information that Shacklebolt and Arthur were able to obtain was that it wasn’t done by a werewolf.

It had been a strategic attack made by Antonin Dolohov and as a result Susan was now the one and only _Bones_ left alive in the wizarding world. She had no one. She had nothing. The house had been torched and the news had been delivered via owl by the Ministry to the school before anyone in the Order could do anything about it. Susan would have found out Thursday morning during breakfast – in front of the entire school – that her family had been entirely wiped out. She was alone.

They’d done it on purpose Hermione knew. The Bones were a rather prominent family and by axing the last of them aside from Susan it was a clear indication of the power that Voldemort and his followers had. The fact that there were ‘ _no suspects’_ in the murder and that no investigation would be completed was yet another blow against any families that were still fighting against his power. And the delivery of the news to the school in such a fashion was intentional too. It was a message to the children – that no one was untouchable and that there were ways that Voldemort could cause them pain other than by doing it directly.

The news had stilled Hermione’s heart and she’d felt the weight on her chest grow heavy as a coldness formed in the pit of her stomach. It radiated through her body like a hollow empty echo and when she’d looked to Harry, she’d seen it – the same dead empty gaze that she knew matched her own.

They would kill him.

Without hesitation.

They would rip him apart if they got the chance.

Hermione followed Harry inside the cottage with Nasir on her heels, knowing that the training tonight was going to be a different than the previous. Knowing that it was likely going to come with some protests – though hopefully, after what had happened to the Bones, they would understand why this was necessary.

“Hermione – Harry,” the twins nodded at them from their seat at the table next to Luna and it caught the attention of everyone in the room.

It was a full house – literally, as everyone had shown up. Hermione bit back her nerves and smiled at the twins before looking to Harry. He gave her a small smile and nodded before turning back to the group before them.

“Alright – tonight we’re going to do things a little bit differently. We’re going to have two groups,” Harry said slowly, his eyes flicking over the crowd of people in the kitchen. “Given the upcoming mission, Hermione and I believe it is important that a select few of you learn some additional spells. Therefore, Arthur, Remus, Bill and Shacklebolt – you will go outside to learn with Hermione. In the future if there is time, we will teach the rest of you but for now you’ll continue to practice shields in here with me.”

The twins were the first to move, getting up from their seats and nodding in agreement before making their way into the living room as Luna and Ron followed behind them. Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand once before making her way back outside into the dim evening light and summoning the sticks that they’d gathered earlier that morning.

She wasn’t surprised to feel Nasir following along behind her as she started to line up the sticks a few feet away from the cottage. She’d fully expected him to follow her. Her eyes flicked to watch as he casually leaned against the outside wall of the cottage to observe the training – taking his typical indifferent stance and crossing his arms over his chest before becoming unnaturally still against the hard surface. What she hadn’t expected was for him to flick his finger and illuminate the area with several floating flames as Bill, Remus, Arthur and Shacklebolt filed out of the small cottage. She smiled at him in thanks and for a moment she almost thought she saw his lip twitch – but when she blinked his expression was just its normal indifferent look.

Turning back to the small group of males to her left she rolled her shoulders and fought back the exhaustion that riddled her body. Tonight’s lesson would likely be hard. Some of them would not want to learn this.

“So what are we learning tonight?” Bill asked as his eyes flicked curiously to the large sticks on the ground.

“Tonight,” Hermione said slowly as she moved to stand a few feet before them. “I’m going to teach you how to effectively kill one of Arlo’s werewolves.”

Hermione watched as Remus and Arthur’s faces tightened. She could see the tension that formed in their bodies the second she’d uttered the words. Bill to his credit simply seemed solemn while Shacklebolt nodded in full understanding.

“Hermione,” Arthur said softly. She knew that he was going to argue so she didn’t let him and simply cut him off.

“Look Arthur, I know that this is hard for you but Nasir’s latest estimate puts them at having over 230 werewolves in that den – you are literally about to walk into a death trap. I know that you want to save them, and I do _want_ you to be able to save as many as you can,” Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. “But in order to do that – you’re going to have to kill some of them. Or they _will_ kill you. We don’t know what’s going to happen once you go in there to set the bomb – any number of things could go wrong and you’re going to be trapped underground with 230 werewolves ordered to attack you. They won’t get distracted – they won’t go for any other targets – they will go after what they’re told to hunt and that will be you.

“You need to be prepared for the worst case,” Hermione said slowly, flicking her eyes over the other men before her. “I’m not asking you to go and personally slaughter everything that’s in there – I just want you to be able to defend yourself. I don’t mean to imply that you couldn’t already do so – I know that you are all capable of fighting but what I’m going to teach you tonight is highly _effective_ against werewolves and Harry and I have found that it is what works best.”

“What’s the spell?” Shacklebolt asked. He seemed sincere in his question and she saw him draw his wand from his robes.

“ _Sectumsempra_ and a tether spell,” Hermione answered him evenly. “We’ve used _diffindo_ – but it doesn’t cut deep enough to do significant damage. _Bombarda_ is almost entirely ineffective and _Bombarda_ _Maxima_ is too dangerous to those around you. Any spell meant to impeded them does little to slow them down and _Duro_ doesn’t work on them. With _sectumsempra_ you can cleave one in half or behead it – the tether spell will work almost like a leash, but I caution you that it might not hold them for very long. We’ll start with the original tethering spell as it is much easier to master.”

Hermione spent the next hour teaching the group how to cast a basic tether. They took turns casting it on each other and tethering each other’s feet to the ground. She showed them how to adjust the length when casting it, either making the imaginary chain longer or shorter – though she didn’t go into alternative usages or how to adjust the tether’s length _after_ it had been cast. Which was something that Nasir seemed to be quite fond of doing during practices.

She explained the simple beauty behind the tether – how it wasn’t complicated magic and in fact any competent witch or wizard could remove a _basic_ tether from their body even if it was cast by someone else. The thing was most witches and wizards didn’t know what a tether felt like so they didn’t even think to remove it since they didn’t know that one was there. Once they’d mastered the basics Hermione taught them the modified version of the tether that she and Harry had been using which involved locking the tether so that it could only be removed by the caster. It was a bit more complicated but was still relatively easy to learn.

She watched from the side as they partnered up and cast the tethers on each other. It didn’t take long until they had all figured out how to do it and some of them were even looking rather pleased with themselves. It had been the right choice to start with this spell – it had worked exactly how she’d wanted it too. They’d loosened up somewhat and weren’t thinking about fighting werewolves and killing them. After a few more rounds of practice Hermione directed them each to stand in front of one of the large sticks and then began teaching them _sectumsempra_.

“I’m going to be transparent with you, this spell is dark magic. If you cut something off with it – it cannot be reattached. So do not _ever_ use this spell unless you have a clean shot and do not use it unless you mean it. You can’t take it back after,” Hermione said quietly to the small group as her eyes flicked over them. She could see that Arthur still looked incredibly hesitant. “We’ll go over the pronunciation first without wands, then move to wand movements only and then we’ll try it on the sticks.”

She reviewed the spell with them for half an hour, correcting even the slightly mispronunciation and instructing them on the precise slashing motion required. Then finally, she had them try the spell one at a time.

Shacklebolt went first and easily cut a clean deep line into the stick. Bill managed a cut as well though not quite as deep. Surprisingly, Remus cut his stick clean in half though he grimaced the entire time and Arthur – well Arthur didn’t even make a scratch.

“Okay summon another stick from the pile and keep practicing,” Hermione said as she made her way over to Arthur.

The man was glaring at the stick before him in disdain and she knew that his inability to cast the spell was entirely related to his reluctance to use it. It was not an overly difficult spell to pronounce and the motions were simple. If anything, this only confirmed what she already knew – he was simply too good hearted. It went against his nature and he was resisting the magic.

“Arthur,” Hermione said gently as she came to stand beside him in the glowing firelight. “You do have to _want_ to cast it.”

Arthur sighed and ran his hand through his hair before turning to look down at her with a tight smile. “I know – I’m afraid that’s the problem, I don’t want to cast it.”

“I know,” Hermione said quietly. “When you tried it – were you thinking about how it was going to hurt someone?”

“Yes,” Arthur sighed deeply and shook his head. “It isn’t like I’ve never battled someone before, Hermione – I’ve severely injured people in the past but – that was different. It was self-defense and those individuals were not good people.”

“This is no different.”

“Yes, it is Hermione,” Arthur said sadly as he looked at her. “And I don’t want to forget the distinction. These are innocent people that are going to die – they’re paying the price on behalf of those who truly deserve it, they’re the ones suffering the consequences and it isn’t right.”

“None of this is right Arthur,” Hermione felt the weight on her chest grow heavier as she looked at the deeply saddened expression on the man’s face. She lowered her voice and stepped closer. “Arthur – if there was a way that we could save them all – I would do it. I hope you believe me when I say that because I mean it – but the reality is they will attack you blindly and you will need to use _self-defense_ against them whether they are innocent or not and if you try to rely on the spells you already know they won’t be enough.”

Hermione hesitated, she could see the conflict in his eyes and the reservation that riddled his body. He was a logical man and she knew that he _understood_ why she was teaching him, but he struggled with doing it because he knew using it would mean killing innocents. It made her heart break for the man and she felt the weight crushing further as she thought about how fucked the world was. How could she live in a place with a person like Mr. Weasley – who loved so unconditionally. Who wanted to help, wanted to think the best in everyone and desperately wanted the best for people while simultaneously living in a world with Voldemort and his followers. A demented sociopath led by blind hatred, rage and a disturbing lust for power. Someone who would use human beings as disposable tools in a war they had no place in.

It wasn’t right.

None of this was right and none of this was fair.

Hermione swallowed; she knew that the only hope she had to protect Arthur was by appealing to him on an emotional level. So, she slowly raised her hand to the high neckline of her shirt, fully aware that Arthur was watching her movement curiously as she spoke her next words quietly.

“There is a reason why Harry and I learned this spell Arthur – if there was any other way to fight this war we would. As Harry said Wednesday – we’re doing what we _must_ do not what we _want_ to do,” Hermione dipped two fingers under the neckline of her shirt and pulled the fabric down her sternum to reveal the clean red line on her neck and the start of her two top most werewolf scars. She saw Arthur’s eyes widen abruptly before they darted to her face and his mouth opened in shock. He looked physically pained, not repulsed, but utterly devasted as she lowered her voice to whisper. “ _This_ is what we are trying to prevent you all from experiencing.”

“ _Hermione_ ,” his voice broke as he spoke, and he brought his hand to cover his mouth as he stared at her and shook his head. “Wh-what happened?”

“Harry and I were attacked in an alley when we went to get more supplies a week after Ron left,” Hermione released her hold on her shirt and the fabric sprung back up to her neck. “We never even saw the bonded wizard – the werewolf just attacked us. Back then – we didn’t know the shield charm, we didn’t know this spell – we didn’t know fucking anything and we both nearly died. We weren’t even in a risky area Arthur – we’d covered our tracks, we were hidden from view, we’d done everything right and everything that we could have done to the best of our ability at that time and it _wasn’t_ enough.

“It attacked me first and nearly cut me into three pieces. I cracked my head open on the pavement from the impact and then Harry nearly got his leg bit off while he tried to attack it and get to me. He threw everything at it, Arthur – _everything_ ,” Hermione shook her head and looked at the speechless man before her almost desperately. “And it did absolutely _nothing_. I ended up blowing up the entire alley before I managed to grab his hand and apparate us away. It was a disaster – I was barely able to complete the apparition, I crashed us, it broke most of Harry’s ribs – somehow he found me in the grass and managed to patch me up before I bled out. But that single random, unplanned moment nearly killed us and it was _one_ werewolf. It put us out of commission for a long time and it made us realize that what we were doing wasn’t good enough.

“These people aren’t playing by the same rules Arthur – they’re not going to give you any mercy I can promise you that. But you know what the worst part of all of this is,” Hermione almost laughed as she bit her lip. “That what we’ve learned so far still isn’t enough – we’re _still_ just scraping by and narrowly escaping death. Harry and I _need_ you – we need everyone here to learn what they can so they can help. The only reason we got caught and brought to Malfoy Manor was because Ron didn’t know this stuff – he wasn’t trained – so when he abandoned his post he got caught. He didn’t stand a chance against them and we couldn’t risk him being interrogated because of what he knows so we had to surrender. We only _barely_ escaped that Manor and I nearly came out in pieces once more. Which is why I’m asking you to learn this – it could save your life Arthur.

“And – I don’t want to lose you,” Hermione felt her voice tighten in her throat as she spoke. “I don’t want you going in there unless you’re prepared and willing to do what it takes to come back out. You have a family here that _needs_ you – Harry and I _need_ you. I know this is hard for you Arthur and maybe it’s selfish of me to ask you to do something that goes against your morale code but you are the only parent we have left – and I – I can’t lose you. I need you to be safe while you’re in there and knowing this spell will help ensure that.”

Her chest felt tighten as she stared at him, it had started as a ploy to get him to learn the spell and it had ended with an emotional confession of the stress and anxiety that had been building in her body the entire week.

She needed this man in her life. She refused to let him be hurt simply because he was too good of a human to do what was needed. It wasn’t right that the despicable survived and the compassionate good-hearted people who could better the world seemed to die so easily. The thought of losing Arthur on this infiltration mission terrified her – it terrified her that she was being asked to stand on the side lines while he and Remus went in. Remus was about to be a father – he shouldn’t even be here and yet there he was splitting sticks next to Shacklebolt because it was what he _had_ to do. The only reason why she was even remotely okay with this plan at all was because she knew Nasir would be with them and he was skilled enough to stand a chance inside the den.

She could see the emotion in Arthur’s eyes, they were shining almost like he might cry and then he moved, grabbing her tightly and pulling her into a warm hug – the kind of hug that only a father could give their own child. She felt his chin on the top of her head as he clutched her and she swallowed hard and hugged him back, gripping him tightly as his voice rumbled quietly above her head.

“I promise you I’ll come back Hermione – you have my word,” Arthur whispered before he let out a deep breath. “I’ll use the spell.”

-x-x-

“You want to do what?” Shacklebolt asked, his brow arched in confusion.

“I want to tag everyone going on the mission on Monday,” Hermione said, and Harry fought back a small smile.

She’d explained the inner workings of the tags to him and he’d helped her make a few of them this morning before heading out to exercise, though he’d suspected that some of the Order members might not get the concept right out the gate due to the high stress that seemed to fill the room. It was probably for the best that everyone was taking Sunday off since people seemed tired from the week and he was feeling it too. If not for the occlumency that Nasir had taught him he would be in even worse shape from lack of sleep. Friday had ended late as everyone was determined to keep practicing and Hermione had woken them up early on Saturday so they could complete the tags and fit in a small round of physical exercise before Nasir arrived at noon.

It was only 8:30 pm, the Order meeting had just concluded and yet it felt like midnight.

Nasir had worked them hard today – debatably harder than he’d worked them all week. He taught them several new spells, gave them the brewing instructions for a strength potion and then doublechecked Hermione’s arm before giving her the all clear to use it in full. They drilled with knives, they drilled their dueling and then, when they were exhausted and had nothing left to give, he made them cast their fiendfyre and fight to control it. They’d both been able to successfully cast it and cut it off – though Harry’s proudest moment of the day had been landing a hit on Nasir. He’d managed to clip him on the arm before the drill ended and Nasir had nodded to him after as if in acknowledgement.

It had felt strange.

The entire day had felt like some sort of final last ditched effort to pile as much information on them as possible and it made Harry uneasy. He could see that Hermione felt it too from the glances that she’d given him, he knew that she was also concerned – but there wasn’t anything they could do about it. If they asked Nasir questions he would simply remain silent and so they’d both agreed to just absorb anything he handed them.

Perhaps Nasir was just worried about the mission – the man didn’t show it like the rest of the Order members did but maybe he was stressed about what was to come. Maybe this was how he showed his unease – by relentlessly preparing and cramming in what should have been weeks’ worth of training into days. Maybe he was worried that the group was too underprepared, and he was trying to make them less of a liability. Or perhaps he was planning on leaving them once the mission was complete and he wanted to impart as much knowledge as he could. After all they’d not discussed what was to come next and both he and Hermione had always doubted that the man would follow them to war.

Yet regardless of the reasoning behind the strange vibe of the day, they now all sat around the table – Nasir on Hermione’s left while he sat to her right. They’d completed their discussion on the mission and agreed to the final details over the course of the last hour and a half. Now he watched the faces of Arthur, Mrs. Weasley, Remus, Fleur, Bill and Shacklebolt as they waited for Hermione to explain the tags.

“They monitor your vital signals – heart rate and stress level mainly, and report the data back to my main tag,” Hermione held up one of the small white rectangles that they’d made from paper that morning. They’d been charmed to be waterproof and could not be easily damaged. “They’re also charmed so you can use them to send a single worded message to the rest of the tags – it will appear with your initial before it so you know who sent the message. It will allow us to keep track of one another during the mission and if you get stuck you can request help, and someone will go to you. If you’re able to assist the person in need then you can respond back quickly to indicate that you’re going to go help.”

“How do we send a message?” Bill asked from the opposite end of the table.

“Just place your finger over the tag and think the word you want to send,” Hermione said as she pulled up the sleeve on her right arm and touched the white paper that was currently stuck there. The word ‘ _Hr-Hello’_ appeared across the papers that sat on the table before her. “I’m only _sticking_ them to you so that you don’t lose them or drop them. I’ll remove them after the mission is completed.”

“Zis is a good idea ‘ermione,” Fleur nodded with genuine approval. “Zis way Molly and I can alert you if somezing goes wrong at ze office too.”

“Exactly,” Hermione gave the woman a smile. “Pick the arm you want it on and roll up your sleeves and I’ll fasten them on.”

Harry stood from his seat and moved to lean against the counter by the sink so that everyone could come get their tags. He watched with amusement as Nasir stood as well – knowing full well that Hermione intended to tag that man too. Though she let him go without complaint and instead fastened Arthur’s tag first. The whole process took a little less than five minutes each person as Hermione set the tag, stuck it to their body and then charmed the tag to respond to them and track their vitals. He watched her work, a small smile tugging on his lips as she carefully placed each tag. She was methodical, attentive to detail, brilliant – perfect.

Sometimes when he watched her work it blew his mind that she’d ever befriended him in the first place. Sometimes it blew his mind that she was his and he was hers.

That this incredible woman had picked him.

That she loved him.

It made his heart stir and it felt like every day he saw her she’d somehow become more incredible. It was like she was permanently running at a sprint and if he blinked and opened his eyes she’d be yards ahead of where she once was. She was relentless. She was formidable. She was his everything.

She glanced to him and he saw a small smile tug at her lips before she returned her eyes to her work and he continued to watch her quietly until a voice sounded to his right.

“You really love her – don’t you?” It was Mrs. Weasley and her voice was quiet, almost sad. Harry turned to look at her, taking in the weighed expression on her face as she watched him. He could see Arthur standing with Bill further into the kitchen and the man’s eyes flicked over to them warily.

“More than anything,” Harry said quietly, his eyes flicking back to watch Hermione work.

“And Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley hesitated, and Harry could practically feel the tension radiating off her body. “She – she and Susan they really–“

“Ginny loves Susan more than life, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry responded quietly when the woman couldn’t finish her words and he turned his head back to her. His voice softening at the expression on her face. “I was the first person that she told – and the two of them – it’s like they were made for each other.”

Mrs. Weasley swallowed hard but said nothing and instead nodded her head quietly before turning back to watch Hermione apply the tags.

-x-x-

Hermione finished attaching the second last tag to Shacklebolt’s arm and then stood from the table, grabbing the last tag and giving Harry an amused look of ‘ _well here we go_ ’ before moving toward the living room. The rest of the Order was standing around the kitchen talking and practicing with their tags – but Harry was standing silently next to Mrs. Weasley and watching her movements.

When she’d first seen the woman approach him from the corner of her vision while she was working she’d felt her spine tighten anxiously – but surprisingly it seemed like nothing had happened. Or at least nothing in comparison to the explosion on Wednesday had happened. Instead the woman just looked sad and Hermione could see a glaze over her eyes, and it made her wonder what they’d spoken about. She’d ask Harry about it tonight – but right now she had one last tag to install.

She made her way across the living space to the tall tanned man who stood leaned against the wall in his usual spot. His eyes tracked her movements closely until she was just a few feet before him. She held up the last white tag and raised her eyebrow, aware of the fact that several eyes from the kitchen were watching her discretely.

“Which arm?” Hermione asked, not giving any room for discussion around whether or not he should accept a tag.

A dark glint sparked in Nasir’s eyes at her words and she saw the corner of his lips twitch as he looked down at her but remained completely motionless before her, arms crossed firmly over his chest as he leaned against the wall. He made absolutely no indication of moving.

“Mostly everyone has gone with their left arm – since they’re right-handed,” Hermione said quietly as she took a step toward him, closing the distance further and nodding to his hands. “I’ve yet to confirm which is your dominant hand – since I’ve seen you use both rather adeptly.”

“And which do you _suspect_ is my dominant hand?” Nasir said quietly, his deep voice practically vibrating between them as his dark eyes watched her intently.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed and she gave him an amused smirk.

“Your left,” she whispered so those in the kitchen would not hear. “You use your right hand more – but I think that is intentional because you _want_ people to think you’re right-handed. I think you look more comfortable when you’re using your left.”

His eyes burned as he watched her, and a dark smile crossed his lips. “You’re very observant.”

“So, I’m right then?” Hermione asked as she arched her brow in question. He remained silent before her, watching her closely as the silence stretched between them until finally, she sighed and smiled in defeat. She outstretched her hand between them, palm up and open in wait as the silence continued to ring for a long painful minute.

“Why?” Nasir asked quietly, his eyes tracing over her face.

“Because regardless of why you’re doing this, regardless of what your intentions are – on Monday you are _part_ of this team, Nasir,” Hermione said quietly as she looked up at him. “What you choose to do afterwards is up to you – I will not ask anything of you, as what you’ve given us already is more than I could have ever asked for. But on Monday – I _am_ going to ensure that our team is safe and that means you too.”

Silence stretched between them again and Hermione could feel the eyes from the kitchen burning into her side as her hand remained upturned between them. She felt her chest tightening as she looked at him until finally, unbelievably, he shifted. His right arm unweaving from the knot across his chest like a serpent uncoiling until he pulled up his outer black robe and placed his right forearm in her open hand.

He seemed unwilling to put in any additional effort aside from giving her his arm, and thus his white dress shirt remained buttoned at the wrist – but she didn’t care. Hermione shifted her hands to reach for the cuff of his shirt when his other hand grabbed hers quickly to stop her and jerked her forward another step. Her eyes flicked to Harry before they locked to Nasir’s – she’d seen Harry tense and she could almost feel the collective tension from the kitchen radiating in the air from those who were watching the exchange anxiously.

Nasir had not hidden the encounter with one of his masking charms this time. His attention was fixed only on her and his warm hand sandwiched hers tightly against his wrist.

“If you add that tag,” Nasir’s low slow voice made her shiver. “Then there is something that you must promise.”

“Okay,” she whispered as she nodded and felt the nerves in her stomach knot. His grip on her wrists tightened as he stepped closer, fixing her with a dark intense gaze that made her throat tighten.

“If I tell you to go,” Nasir nearly whispered, his low dark voice echoing around them. “You will listen to me – do I have your word?”

Hermione swallowed, a hundred questions spinning in her head as she stared at the man before her. She wanted to ask him why. She wanted to ask him when. She wanted to ask him if it was specifically about the werewolf den infiltration – it had to be, right? She’d told everyone that she’d remove the tags afterwards. Did he not want to be saved if something went wrong? Was he planning to do something? Was he going to betray them, and he simply didn’t want her to get hurt? After all she knew that he seemed to be only somewhat loyal to her and he was particularly indifferent to the rest of the Order members aside form Harry. Was he anticipating something happening in Birmingham?

But she knew that he wouldn’t answer any of her questions.

She knew that he wouldn’t tell her a thing – so she nodded.

“Say it,” his dark voice rumbled and sent a tingle down her spine. He’d leaned down so he was only a foot away from her face and his eyes burned like they had when she’d asked him about her wand.

“You have my word,” Hermione whispered and then she felt his grip on her hands loosen and fall away as he stepped back and became completely impassive once more.

Hermione swallowed as she nodded firmly and then got to work, forcing the questions in her mind to quiet. She undid the buttons at the cuff of his sleeve and rolled the fabric up his impossibly steady arm, taking in the sight of hundreds of small silver scars that laced his skin – including a long narrow one along his forearm that she didn’t recall seeing during her rune carving. She focused her mind on task and set the tag midway up his forearm, continuing to ignore the eyes that watched her work and concentrating on semi-permanently sticking the paper while connecting the charm to his person so it would feed the correct stats. When she finished, she rolled his sleeve back down his arm and redid the buttons.

“There,” she said quietly, her eyes moving back to his impassive face. “Can you test it so I can make sure it works?”

Nasir retracted his arm and placed a single finger over the place where the paper was beneath his shirt before he pulled his outer robes back into place. Hermione felt the tingle of the paper against her own arm and she pulled back her sleeve to look at the message in unison with the seven other eyes in the kitchen.

_N-Test_

-x-x-

“He made me promise to go if he told me to,” Hermione said quietly as she sat across the table from Harry.

Her hands cupped the warm beverage before her loosely, she could feel a hollow emptiness growing in her chest as she stared at the steaming mug. They’d said goodbye to the Order members several minutes ago and were now drinking tea in the dimly lit tent, the sound of the waves and rising winds rumbling throughout the tent. Hermione’s jaw tightened as she looked up to Harry and she felt the unease that had been gathering in the pit of her stomach compound further. She didn’t know the intent behind Nasir’s words and it left her feeling disturbed and wary.

“Harry – either he doesn’t want us to help him if something goes wrong,” she said quietly, feeling the strain in her voice as she spoke. “Or he’s planning something, and he just doesn’t want me to get injured. Harry – what if we were wrong to trust him – I still believe that he isn’t going to hurt us but what if he is willing to sacrifice the lives of the Order for his own plans?”

A heavy and strange feeling was curling in her chest. She was torn between doubt and insecurity, and a feeling that was similar to how she’d felt when she’d spoken to Arthur on Friday night. Somehow this unnatural and disturbing man had burrowed a hole into her heart and claimed a space. She wasn’t entirely sure she fully understood why. He wasn’t compassionate. He wasn’t even kind. Their relationship could barely even be called friendly and if anything should be classified as alarming and yet – she didn’t want him to die.

She didn’t want to lose him.

She didn’t want to leave him behind if something went wrong.

He’d taught her more in a week than she’d learned in years. He’d helped her, he’d given her the use of her arm back, he was impartial and didn’t berate her for asking too many questions. He’d willingly taught her dangerous magic so she could be safe and in an odd twisted way he’d become her mentor – their mentor. _Both_ she and Harry looked to him for guidance and in a bizarre way he’d become a part of their team, they’d adopted him in and like Arthur – they needed him. Even though it was strange to admit it – she wanted him around. She didn’t want to lose him in the same way that she did not want to lose anyone else on this mission.

And yet she still wasn’t even sure if she should trust him at all. She was painfully aware that they might be about to get completely fucked over by him even if he refused to hurt her directly.

“I know,” Harry said quietly his face strained as he nodded. “I got that feeling while we trained today – but Hermione, what he said doesn’t mean that he’s going to die and it doesn’t necessarily mean that he is going to betray us either. The reality is we don’t know what it means. He might just be planning to leave afterwards – and maybe he doesn’t want us to follow him. Or maybe he knows that you’d risk your life to save Arthur and he doesn’t want you running into a death zone – we both know that he is on your side – so maybe he is just trying to protect you.”

“Maybe,” Hermione said quietly though in her heart she didn’t know what to believe. “Harry, I don’t want to lose anyone on Monday.”

“We won’t,” Harry said firmly as he reached for her hands.

“If something goes wrong inside,” Hermione said slowly as she took his hands. “ _We_ will be the ones that go in after them – not Bill, not Shacklebolt. They wouldn’t stand a chance – and I’m not leaving Arthur, Remus _or_ Nasir to die. Promise me that you won’t stop me from going in.”

“I’m going to go with you Hermione,” Harry squeezed her hand and she smiled sadly. “Always. We won’t leave anyone behind.”

Hermione laid curled in Harry’s arms. She could feel that he was still sleeping, his deep even breaths echoed in the crook of her neck while she stared into the darkness above her. It was still an hour away from daylight and she’d woken early since she was no longer mandated to sleep for ten hours. She’d cut back on the dreamless sleep potion and started using the occlumency that Harry had been using. It had been effective; she’d slept soundly and it wasn’t nightmares that woke her.

It was sadness.

She’d been thinking while she slept – thinking about tomorrow, about Monday. She’d been rerunning the plan in her head and reviewing her arsenal of spells. She’d woken when she’d thought of Arthur and she’d stayed awake after the uneasiness settled back into her heart. The weight on her chest was heavier today and it felt like it was growing as more time went on – but she knew it was related to the mission. She knew it was because despite her best intentions she was allowing dread to seep into her core and pollute her mind.

She couldn’t lose these people.

She _wouldn’t_ lose these people.

Hermione flicked her eyes to Harry and she felt a tug across her chest. She loved him more than life itself and she wouldn’t lose him either. She would make sure of that.

She would do whatever it took on Monday to make sure that everyone got out alive – and then, while they planned for the break-in, she would teach the rest of the group everything that they could so they were prepared. She would show Luna how to break someone and then heal them. She would teach Fleur _sectumsempra_ and she would even show Ron how to measure out blood replenishing potion and then she would get everyone busy with brewing and stocking up their supplies because this was a collective effort now. After what happened at the Manor it was impossible to think that they could do this alone – and even if they could it would do no good if they were constantly trying to protect everyone around them.

Voldemort had built his army and so she and Harry would build theirs. They would fortify their team and make sure that everyone could protect and defend themselves.

Hermione let out a low deep sigh and then slowly and carefully extracted herself from Harry’s hold. He was exhausted from watching over her all week and she knew that he hadn’t been getting the same rest that she had. She would let him sleep in today – he needed it. But she couldn’t lay there any longer while her mind ran in circles. She knew that she wasn’t the only one up as she felt some hearts fluttering through the tags within her mind. She needed to get up and get to work – she had things that she needed to do before Monday, and she wanted to review some of the notes that she’d taken while training with Nasir.

She wanted to be prepared.

-x-x-

Hermione stood outside the cottage with the small group of Order members, Harry close at her side. It was dull, raining, grey and dark. The weather had turned on them and the wind was howling as a storm blew in. She could feel the electricity in the air, it rattled through her body like a cold chill and made every muscle in her tense with suspense. She could see it on their faces too. She could see the fear, the anxiety – the seriousness of what was about to happen was almost tangible. She felt like she could have reached out into the air before them and grabbed it tightly in her fist.

No amount of training or time would have left them feeling any more prepared than they did right now. Nothing could steady the unease that riddled everyone’s body as they waited for the last few minutes to count down in silence.

They’d gathered at 6:30 am. They’d double checked the tags to confirm that they were working, they’d taken their small collection of supplies that Fleur and Luna had assembled with input from Hermione so everyone would have emergency blood replenishers, dittany and a collection of other helpful potions. They’d reviewed the plan one final time and then Hermione had cast a heavy scent blocking charm on each person. It was what she’d worked on Sunday morning while Harry was sleeping, and it would give them just another layer of added protection while they staked out their positions. According to Nasir’s data all of the werewolves and bonded pairs should have returned to the den by 7 am but they would not yet be asleep. They would be inside turning over their captures and eating so the odds of running into anything outside would be unlikely though not impossible and she didn’t want to take any chances. At least this way if anyone was straggling behind they wouldn’t be noticed immediately by scent.

Then there’d been nothing else to say.

Just a small group of people huddled under a charm to avoid the rain while they waited to apparate to Birmingham. They couldn’t even make themselves wait inside because it had felt too tense. It had been too excruciating. Hermione, Harry and Nasir had been the ones to go outside to wait first, but they were followed quickly by everyone else. And she knew why they’d done it – she could _feel_ their vitals, she could feel every single one of their heartbeats and she knew they were nervous.

Hermione glance to Fleur and Mrs. Weasley who were currently standing in a copy of their husband’s clothes and holding a small vial of Polyjuice potion each. They would be leaving at the same time, but they would be headed to the Ministry instead – which was debatably just as dangerous. Mrs. Weasley was _very_ nervous, but Fleur seemed much more settled.

Hermione’s eyes flicked to Arthur who looked tense, but she could tell from his heart rate that he was resolved. Remus seemed to be calm yet consumed by a dark sadness that was echoed by the odd erratic beat of his heart. Shacklebolt was determined and ready to go and his heart beat steady but quickly, and Bill was tense but oddly steady. Harry was like her – heart rate elevated slightly above normal but beating at a steady even pace.

Then there was Nasir, who stood rigid and indifferent in all black like death itself. Black pants, black dress shirt, and a set of thin black outer robes. His eyes were fixated on the dune in which they’d trained for the last week and he stood absolutely immobile as the rain started to pour around them. His heartbeat was slow and steady as always – completely unchanged. Entirely naturally unnatural.

She felt Harry grab her hand and she gripped him tightly, knowing that it was almost time. She flicked her eyes to the ground, watching as the rain rolled off her charmed boots and collected into puddles on the sandy ground around them. She and Harry had gone for a similar look to Nasir since they didn’t need to immediately apparate to a job and pretend like nothing had happened after the mission. They were both wearing dark black pants and dark black sweaters under their jackets and they both had their daggers fastened to their thighs. Her purse was stuffed into Harry’s pocket and tethered there, but they each held their own small pouch of supplies in their left jacket pockets like everyone else.

She heard the timer go off in her head.

“It’s time,” Hermione said quietly, stepping forward with Harry and extending her hand to Nasir. “Stay safe everyone.”

She saw Fleur and Mrs. Weasley nod firmly before downing their potion and starting their transformation. They would have two hours until it wore off – which should be plenty of time given that their window for extraction at the werewolf den was seven and a half minutes and they needed to be out of there before 8 am. Arthur took Bill’s hand who gripped Remus, Remus gripped Shacklebolt who then gripped Nasir to form a chain back to Hermione. She felt the familiar tug behind her navel as Shacklebolt apparated all of them to the West side of Birmingham and she heard the raging thunder before the apparition had even been completed.

The wind whipped at her face as she landed, and she felt the sting of cold rain despite their water proofing charms. It was dark and cold and wet, and they’d landed in the clearing that Nasir had selected but it seemed like the storm here was even worse than at Shell Cottage. They all quickly congregated under the charm that Arthur cast and reviewed their final positions once more before they began to split off to execute their roles.

Shacklebolt left first – apparating to the Southern side to begin encasing the already existing wards and charms with a set of his own to contain the explosion. He would re-ward the entire building and then at 7:30 am he would begin dismantling the ones that were there so that Arthur and Remus could enter undetected at exactly 7:42 am. It was an immense task and possibly the most important one – if he couldn’t successfully dismantle the existing wards then Nasir would be the only one able to sneak inside. They’d planned for this – it was back-up plan A but it meant that almost no muggles would be rescued as Nasir would barely have enough time to set the explosive and get out.

Bill left second, disillusioning and shielding himself to make his way to the Eastern sewer where he would wait quietly until 7:39 am and then he would seal the sewer. He would keep watch and wait to see if additional help was required before returning to work at 8:01 am once the mission was completed.

Arthur and Remus would leave third, disillusioning themselves and shielding as Bill had done and making their way to the Western and Southern sewers. They would seal the sewer and then apparate just outside of the new wards that Shacklebolt had created to meet Nasir on the Southern side of the building and sneak inside to set the bomb and rescue as many muggles as they could.

From the second that they entered the building they would have seven and a half minutes to complete their task and get out. They wouldn’t be able to apparate inside the wards and depending on what happened Arthur might not be able to use his portkey to return to his office. If he was injured, he would need to be healed first – he couldn’t show up bloodied and smelling of explosion in his office and Shacklebolt had been unable to get additional portkeys for escape. As it was, obtaining the six that he had had already been a massive stretch of his resources that risked drawing attention to the Order.

Ideally, Arthur, Remus and Nasir would join the muggles they rescued and use the port key that took them to the safe house to escape – but Hermione knew there was a risk that that might not work either. She knew that Arthur would not leave the den until he had extracted as many people as he could and until he was sure that the research had been destroyed and the den was wired to explode. She knew that they would likely be leaving the building the same way that they entered it or that they’d be exiting through a sewer to get outside of the wards.

Nasir would leave next – he would slip inside the wards and wait until 7:40 am and then take out the patrol that rounded the den. He would then meet Arthur and Remus and escort them inside.

She and Harry would leave last to move to the Northern side of the den. Sealing the main gas line to the building at 7:38 am and cutting the sewer at 7:39 am. Then, like Bill, they were to wait quietly and hope that the others were successful.

Hermione nodded to Arthur and Remus before they disillusioned themselves and vanished. The rain started coming down harder as a low rumble of thunder broke through the air. She turned to look at Nasir, he was staring at her intently, every so often his eyes would flick to Harry and then his gaze would return back to hers. Yet no one said a thing, the three of them just stood there in the rain and stared while Hermione’s next timer counted down. Thirty seconds before Nasir was to leave, he moved, stepping toward her and glancing at Harry once more before stopping a little more than a foot away from her.

She blinked away the rain that was eating through her charm and watched anxiously as he raised his hand from his side and extracted a black leather-bound notebook from his robes. He paused for a moment before he held it out to her. She hesitated, eyeing him carefully before she reached for it and took it from him. His dark intense gaze made her throat tighten as she clutched the book to her chest.

He didn’t say anything. His eyes flicked to Harry with a heated intensity and she felt Harry shift at her side before he looked at her one final time, then Nasir turned swiftly on his heel and began walking his way toward the dark wet forest. Hermione felt her heart constricting with panic as Harry grabbed her hand tightly, and she stared after the silent shadow of the tanned man as he walked away.

“Be careful!” the words left her mouth before she could stop them, and she saw Nasir freeze momentarily before he continued and faded into the darkness.

The second he vanished from sight Hermione shrunk the book and stuffed it in her pocket. She tethered it and used a sticking charm so that it would absolutely not fall out. She forced the sickness that was growing in the pit of her stomach to calm as she felt the flutter of six nervous hearts within her mind. She could feel their anxiety – she could feel each unsteady heartbeat as they waited and worked on their tasks. She could hear their timer counting down in her head and she felt the tension growing in her chest as the seconds ticked by.

She turned to face Harry, gripping his hand like death as he stared at her intensely.

“I love you,” Hermione said firmly as she swallowed hard. Her eyes racking over his face and taking in every detail even though she’d memorized it months ago.

“I love you,” he looked at her firmly, his expression was tighter than it had been a minute ago. “We are going to get everyone out.”

She nodded, urging her heart to calm as the wind whipped her braid to the side. She rechecked everyone’s vitals once more as if she were scrolling through a list until her timer went off. She dropped Harry’s hand, getting her wand and casting a shield and disillusionment as he did the same. Then she reached for him once more and apparated them to the Northern end of the den.

They moved silently, vanishing their muddy tracks through the woods until they came to the gas line and sewer. Both of them monitoring the time as they got into position, uncovered the lines and then waited in tense silence. The rain had drenched through her newest water proofing charms as they were less effective with the scent blocker – but she hardly noticed it. It dripped down her chin and rolled down her forehead as she stared intently at the enormous sewer pipe she’d exposed before her. The sound of it echoed heavy in her mind as the sky lit up with lightening but they both remained rigid and unmoving. Harry’s wand was pointed at the gas line to her left and his heart beat at an eerie steady calm like her own.

At 7:38 am Harry cut and sealed the gas line.

At 7:39 am Hermione cut and seal the sewer, leaving the end open just outside of the wards as agreed to so that they had an escape.

At 7:40 am she felt Mrs. Weasley’s stress levels increase though she seemed to be okay.

At 7:41 am Shacklebolt sent word: _S-Complete_ and she knew that the wards had been dismantled.

At 7:42 am she felt Remus and Arthur’s heart rates spike with adrenaline though Nasir’s remained calm. She stood with Harry, their eyes locked into the dark rain around them as the listening intently for any signs of incoming people and squinted their eyes through the sheets of rain as they crouched low in the mud.

At 7:44 am Fleur’s heart fluttered quickly before it evened out. And Hermione gripped her wand more tightly.

At 7:46 am she felt Remus’ heart spike once, followed quickly by Arthur’s but no message was sent.

Then at 7:47 am her whole body went rigid as she felt Nasir’s heart rate spike. It happened so quickly she nearly missed it – she almost didn’t believe that it had happened except that after the spike his pulse evened out to a higher rate than its normal resting beat.

Hermione looked to Harry as her jaw tightened and she saw his eyes harden with understanding.

At 7:49 am she’d still not heard word of anyone exiting the den. Her eyes shot anxiously toward the tall building that poked up from the trees as a deep panic unfolded in her chest. They were late, they should have been out by now, they only had twenty seconds left on the clock.

At 7:50 am Remus’ heart rate spiked, his stress levels soared, Arthur’s vitals read like he’d gone into shock – and Nasir’s heart rate instantly doubled. Hermione felt a deep cold terror settle over her body.

“ _Harry_ ,” at her single clipped word his eyes shot to hers instantly and he nodded, jumping into the large sewer line before her. She followed him immediately, setting off at a sprint behind him as she tapped her arm twice with the agreed upon code.

_Hr-Extraction_

_Hr-Hold_

(To be continued…)

-x-x-

Just wanted to say thank you for your kind words and for sharing your inspirations with me last week :D It was extremely motivating, and it meant a lot to me that you shared it with me <3 Thank you.

This week I listened to a lot of music, I found it helped to keep me motivated and it also inspired some moments of this chapter, the final battle, a few post war moments and the upcoming werewolf den infiltration. So, all in all I would say it was highly effective! ;)

I listen to everything… spanning from classical & piano (이루마) to angry rock (pop evil: waking lions [which you can thank for some of the more intense scenes coming up :P along with ‘wonderful life’ by bmth] and bfmv) to melodic dubstep (illenium: beautiful creatures) to lofi (homework radio mixes on YT) to kpop (taemin) to epic inspirational tunes by two steps from hell and numerous other favorites.

If you feel like sharing and as always if it is too personal, please don’t feel obligated to answer – send me a song recommendation of any genre! :D I’m always looking to expand my musical category and I’d love to see if it inspires another chapter or possibly a fun one shot/new fic :D

I’m off to bake myself a birthday cake and then I’m done for the day ;)

Know that you are loved <3

Stay safe my friends.


	48. Chapter Forty-Eight (ft. Lupin and Mr. Weasley)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Today’s chapter features Remus, Arthur and Hermione’s POV. It’s going to be busy busy...but please give Remus a warm welcome :) Fluffy this bit is for you – I told you I had a place to put it.  
> 2\. So… well yeah, you just read it and tell me what you think. Hopefully I did the action justice.  
> 3\. Early update because it is Easter weekend and I have virtual family visits planned! Can’t go in person but we’re going to hang out on line :)  
> 4\. Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.  
> WARNINGS:  
> \- Violence, blood, gore, nasty things that happen when you invade a den of werewolves.
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

**Saturday April 11, 1998**

**The Tonks’ Family Home**

“Remus?”

He’d been so quiet.

He’d moved so carefully he was sure that she’d not woken – but leave it to Tonks, the woman was probably either sleeping with one eye open or she was blatantly awake and refusing to go to bed until he got back despite the fact that she was nearly bursting at nine months pregnant. It was all he could do to keep her from attending the Order meetings in person and so he’d settled on the compromise of returning to the Tonks family home after meetings and keeping her in the loop with the information that Arthur and Shacklebolt agreed he could tell her regarding their plans and actions. Though she was supposed to have been sleeping by now and he’d been planning to update her in the morning before returning to his small ramshackle apartment to prepare. He should have known better – of course she would stay up.

Remus let out a soft sigh, unable to fight the smile that tugged at his lips at the sound of his wife’s voice.

 _His wife_.

He wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to saying those words. It felt like just yesterday that he’d been resigned to walking through life alone save for a very few limited close friends. He’d never in a million years imagined that someone would want him, like him – _love_ him.

There were still some mornings where he woke up thinking it was a dream. That everything he now had wasn’t real – for how could it be? How could Tonks, a beautiful, talented young witch find anything about him desirable? It baffled his mind; it was like he just could not accept it, and for the longest time he hadn’t.

He’d seen this before. He’d been through this before once himself though he’d never had feelings for the woman – it happened in the small but elusive community of werewolves that tried to exist in wizarding society despite the stigma around lycanthropy. Every so often a witch or wizard would pop up that viewed them as a pity case, they viewed them as something that could be helped or could be fixed. Their attraction wasn’t real – it was never true love; it was just a desire to want to help or a fixation. He had never been foolish enough to allow himself to indulge because he could see it for what it really was. The one time previous that this had happened to him, he’d created space between himself and the witch and sure enough she’d lost interest and was married within the year to some bloke in the Ministry who was missing a leg due to a potion disaster.

He’d watched in the past as others mistakenly pursued these relationships only for them to fall apart weeks, months or in the longest case – one year and sixteen days later. That was how things worked for those who suffered from lycanthropy. Once their partner realized that they could not actually be _fixed_ , that there was _nothing_ that they could do they eventually grew weary or lost interest. It was almost like they were a fad to these people – like they were something daring or rebellious that they could take in or be a part of until the adrenaline rush of it being new and exciting wore off and they realized it was exhausting. After seeing a few transformations, or after too many close calls suddenly the danger of their condition became _real_ and these people realized that they did not want to watch or put up with the difficulties for the rest of their lives. Not to mention the social ostracism that came from dating or marrying a werewolf, the lack of job, the financial stress – it was a burden and their ‘ _love’_ faded as quick as the seasons.

Though when Tonks had revealed her feelings to him it had been ten times worse than these other relationships he’d seen in the past, and it had been nothing like the incident he’d experienced with that woman from the Ministry – because this time, he’d actually liked her. He’d more than liked her. He was smitten. They’d been working together for several months on Order missions and they’d grown oddly close. Tonks was a spark of life, she was mesmerizing, brilliant, talented, blunt, courageous and before he’d even realized what had happened, he’d fallen for her and she’d managed to completely capture his affection.

He’d never before in his life fallen in love and he’d been waiting and fully prepared to watch from the sidelines as _she_ fell in love with someone else. A handsome Auror perhaps. He’d been prepared to feel his heart break, he’d been prepared to watch her be happy and he’d been prepared to continue his life alone like he’d always intended. So her admission had hit him hard like a blow to the chest. He couldn’t process it – he couldn’t accept it. It fundamentally didn’t make any sense and it had terrified him.

So, he pushed her away.

He’d rejected it so instinctually that he’d actively fought it. He’d fought his feelings for her and he’d tried to convince her that _hers_ weren’t real – because he didn’t think that they were. He’d told her that they would never work, he’d told her that he had nothing to offer – no money, not even a damn job. He’d told her that he was too old. He’d told her that it was too dangerous – that _he_ was too dangerous. He’d told her that it was just a phase and that she didn’t know what she wanted, that she didn’t truly want him and that her _infatuation_ was only because they’d been thrown together in desperate times.

He’d stopped going on missions with her. He’d actively avoided her as much as he possibly could and then when that failed he’d stopped talking to her for two months straight. He’d accepted every dangerous mission that the Order had, he’d thrown himself fully into the cause and emotionally shut himself down because he’d refused to accept that this could be real. He’d refused to involve her in his sad, depressing life and he’d refused to allow her to throw her life away because she _thought_ that she loved him. He’d pushed and pushed and pushed.

And yet… Tonks had refused to relent.

She’d refused to let it go.

She’d refused to leave him alone.

She’d chased after him worse than a dog with a bone and she didn’t let up for single second for over the course of a year.

She’d _actively_ sought him out, she’d spoken to him even though he refused to answer, and she’d repeatedly told him that she loved him. She’d helped collect potion ingredients for his Wolfsbane potion, she’d delivered it to him from Snape, she’d even witnessed several of his transformations and still stuck around. She’d been entirely uncompromising about the situation and it had started to affect her health – her appearance changed, her behaviour shifted and Remus finally started to question things when her patronus changed. He finally started to accept that perhaps maybe – despite all odds, she did truly love him.

Yet he’d still refused to be with her.

He’d still refused to allow her to deal with the dangers and hardships associated with lycanthropy. It wasn’t right, it was selfish and because he cared for her, he especially could not allow her to take those risks. So, he pushed even harder.

And she _still_ didn’t let up.

Things eventually got so bad that Arthur had gotten involved and shockingly, his redheaded friend had taken _her_ side and so had Molly. The two of them had endorsed the idea of their relationship and actively encouraged it. One night, post meeting before the attack on Hogwarts, Arthur had told him that love was both the most beautiful and terrifying thing in the world – then he’d told him to be brave.

Though even then it took another few weeks until he’d finally cracked. Not until after the battle at Hogwarts. Not until after Dumbledore was buried. Not until after Tonks had confronted him at his ramshackle apartment and kissed him and he’d felt his walls falling down around him – she’d broken them, slowly over the course of a year, crack by crack until finally she’d ripped down every last piece.

She had fought _for_ him.

 _She_ chased _him_ and until the day he died he would never understand why.

He had literally nothing to offer her. Nothing to give other than himself and he’d spent the entirety of his life thinking that he was not enough. So why she would want him he would never know, and yet here he was, returning to his _wife_ and unborn _child_. Things that he never in his wildest dreams ever thought he would have.

Remus made his way through the kitchen of the Tonks family home, knowing that her mother Andromeda was ‘ _sleeping’_ in the second main floor bedroom next to Tonks’ temporary room – and by sleeping he meant sitting up awake because Tonks was awake. The woman had placed a charm on her daughter to monitor her health and would wake the second she moved an inch and was constantly monitoring the vitals of their son – which Remus knew he would never be able to properly thank her for. She was doing everything that he should be doing, everything that he _wanted_ to be doing and yet couldn’t because of the war.

Thankfully, so far things were going well and his son wouldn’t inherit lycanthropy – but Remus knew that Tonks was tense. She didn’t do well cooped up inside and once she’d reached four month and started to show she was all but confined within the house for her own safety. While his wife agreed that she should not participate in any missions while pregnant, she disagreed that she should be kept from things entirely. She hated it. Remus knew she complained about it and once again he felt a wash of gratitude toward Andromeda for putting up with Tonks’ agitation and displeasure with being kept away from the Order. He knew he would never be able to repay the woman and frankly he wasn’t really sure where he stood with her or if she’d want his gratitude.

He’d suspected that her parents disapproved of their relationship due to his condition. He’d suspected that they disliked him and were upset about the pregnancy – he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t. When he’d first found out he’d been positively livid with himself for being so irresponsible. He’d regretted marrying her, he’d regretted giving in – he’d felt like the most selfish person in the world and he’d seriously wished he could undo it all. It had taken him a long time to come around on the idea and he knew that a small part of him would always be uneasy with their relationship. That a part of him would always feel terrible about giving in.

Yet oddly, her parents had always treated him respectfully. So, he really wasn’t sure what to make of them – he just knew that he was grateful for them taking her in and caring for her when he could not.

“Hi,” Remus said softly, keeping his voice down after he’d carefully closed the door to her room behind him. She was sitting up in bed, an open book next to her and her hands folded neatly across her belly. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“Pft please,” Tonks rolled her eyes and fixed him with a look though she kept her voice low despite casting a silencing charm. “All I ever do nowadays is sleep and lay around. It’s boring – I hate it – and I worry about you. Of course I was going to wait up – you’re my husband and you’re my only connection to the real world right now. So, what happened? Is everything still on track for Monday? Did you learn anything else new tonight? How is everyone?”

Remus smiled, Tonks was practically jittering with pent up energy and she was looking to him with a desperate sort of excited worry as she fired off the same list of rapid questions that she did every time he came by.

“Everyone is well,” Remus said as he took a seat next to her knees on the bed and took her hand. “We didn’t practice tonight – we just went over the plans and then Hermione tagged everyone so we can communicate during the attack.”

Remus pulled up his sleeve to show her the paper and he saw a look of relief wash over her face.

“Thank Merlin for that girl,” Tonks shook her head as she ran her fingers over the paper. “Incredible – you can pass messages through it then?”

“Single words, yes – and she’s monitoring all of our vitals through it so she and Harry can ensure everyone’s safety.”

“They’ve really changed – haven’t they?” Tonks asked softly, her eyes moving back to his as she stopped tracing the paper and took his hand once more.

“Almost entirely,” Remus said quietly, a grim smile forming on his face. “Though every now and again you see traces of their old selves in there. They both smiled more tonight than I’ve seen all week.”

“They’re going to be okay Remus,” Tonks squeezed his hand as she looked at him sincerely. “Maybe not the same as they were before but they’ll be okay – it will just take time. But they have us – they have Arthur. They’re not alone anymore.”

“You’re right,” Remus leaned forward and placed a slow kiss on her cheek, leaning his head against hers and letting out a deep sigh when her hand came to rest on the side of his face.

“So everything is a go for Monday morning?” Tonks whispered as she turned her head and rested her forehead against his.

“Yes.”

“And this guy – Nasir – do you think he’ll do his part?”

“I don’t know,” Remus said slowly as he swallowed hard, his eyes locking to her. “I sure hope so or this might well be the last mission that the Order ever runs.”

He felt her grip tighten on his hand and she looked at him fiercely.

“Don’t say that,” she whispered almost harshly. “If he does something – if something goes wrong – you and Arthur get out of there. You do whatever you have to, use your shield and you hit him with everything you have because I need you to come back to me – Remus I can’t stand knowing that I can’t be there _with_ you. I wish there was a way that I could come with you _and_ bring our son safely into this world.”

“I know,” Remus squeezed her hand back, though he didn’t dare say that he was truthfully glad she would not be coming on the mission with them.

Tonks slid her hand to the back of his neck and curled her fingers tightly into his robes. “You need to be safe – save who you can but _you_ need to be safe.”

“I will,” Remus said firmly even though he wasn’t entirely sure he believed it. “I promise.”

“Good,” Tonks said firmly before she closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to his and then whispered against him. “Because your son needs you.”

Remus gripped her tightly and he felt himself melt against her lips as something painful tugged across his chest. It was those words – words that he never thought he would ever hear. It was her – she was everything to him and yet he deserved none of it. It was the fact that for the first time in his life since James and Sirius died, he had something to come back to. He had a _home_ , he had a life – he had more than he could have ever dreamed of and it was exactly as Arthur had said. It was beautiful and it was terrifying, and he knew that there was a chance that he would not be returning home on Monday.

-x-x-

**April 13, 1998**

**Birmingham, 7:35 am**

Arthur blinked back the rain as he quickly excavated the soil above the Southern sewer line. The raging winds and thunder made it difficult to hear anything going on around him and it set his nerves on edge. He did the best that he could to remain calm and focused as the large drain came into view and he tried to steady his heart as a tightness began to grow in his chest. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Hermione was not only dealing with her own nerves but everyone else’s. He could barely contain his panic and yet he knew that she was experiencing eight different sets of vitals aside from her own – but he knew that she would handle it. He knew that she would be fine.

After finding out what she and Harry had been through since September he’d completely abandoned the notion that she was at all vulnerable, or that she and Harry needed help – because they didn’t. They were survivors and what they needed was _support_ from a competent team.

It was painfully obvious after training with them this week that the duo’s biggest weakness right now was the Order itself. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that they were the ones who would probably be fine today – it was himself and everyone else that might not make it out safely. And that had been a very sobering realization. It had sat heavy across his chest and led him to practice almost every spare minute that he had outside of evening training and work. He’d spent his entire Sunday inside the Burrow splitting sticks and when the mission today was done, he would do it again – again and again until he became someone who could be what they needed. Until he was no longer a liability, until he was an asset who could truly help them.

He knew that most of the others had drawn the same conclusion, though it had taken Molly until Thursday to really start to accept the concept. It had been the news about the Bones family that had done it. It had shaken her in a way that he’d not seen before and it had left her deep in thought. He’d yet to discuss it with Molly (because it wasn’t up for discussion) but the second he could safely pull Ginny and Susan from Hogwarts he would offer Susan a home at the Burrow for as long as she needed it – because she was family and he would make sure that she was safe. Susan was technically of age and no longer required parental guidance, but he had discussed the situation with Shacklebolt just the same and the man had agreed to help Arthur protect her. They would ensure that nothing happened to her.

He’d gone to her family home with Shacklebolt in the night to try and retrieve her belongings, but almost everything had been burned to ash. He’d found only a single singed family picture, a small somewhat toasty stuffed rabbit (which he’d washed very carefully by hand and placed on Ginny’s bed for safe keeping) and one knit sweater buried under the ash in her closet. It wasn’t much, but he preserved it all and took it home with him before he and Shacklebolt arranged to have the house completely demolished. They never wanted Susan to see it – they never wanted _anyone_ to ever see it. He was thankful that no one else had because as it was, he knew that he’d never be able to un-see the horror that had happened inside that home.

Just like how he’d would never be able to un-see the marks that riddled Hermione’s body.

He wasn’t a stupid man – he knew that they were even worse than what she’d shown him and those were in _addition_ to the scaring that he suspected she’d gotten from the torture. It had broken his heart to see it. He’d felt a sickness burn in the pit of his stomach as he mourned for her, for the pain she must have experienced, for the agony and the fear. And yet she’d stood before him speaking of it calmly as if it was just another _thing_ that one might go through in life. As if these situations had become normal to her.

She’d already accepted it.

An eighteen-year-old girl.

She was still a child in his eyes and yet she spoke and moved like someone with twenty years her experience and he finally understood _exactly_ why. She’d been to hell and back and she’d survived. If it had been anyone else, it would have broken them. If it had been a more superficial girl, it would have destroyed them – he knew how some girls could be when it came to appearances and yet Hermione had viewed it as nothing more than another obstacle to overcome. It had kept him up half the night on Friday thinking about it and it strengthened the resolve that he had to do what he needed to do.

From the second his son had introduced the small bushy haired girl to him he’d been fond of her and he’d _long_ since considered her to be his second daughter. She was part of the family and to know what she had been through, what someone had done to her… it had been the equivalent to lighting a raging protective fire deep within his core. It sickened him to think that he might kill people today and it _hurt_ to think that _most_ of them were innocent people who deserved better. Yet he knew she was right. He knew that if he did not find a way to detach himself from this mission and do what was necessary, he would not be coming back out – and they deserved more than that. They’d shouldered the weight of this entire war, they’d bore the burden alone when it should have been shared amongst everyone in the Order and everyone in the wizarding world.

He was going to make up for it.

He would do what was necessary and he would ensure that no one hurt his daughters again – not Ginny, not Hermione and not Susan.

Arthur clenched his jaw as he pointed his wand at the sewer and waited for his timer.

Today would be the day that the Order returned to its full potential. It would be the day that they became what they _should_ have been this whole time. They would become a force to be reckoned with, they would shift the power in the war as they made their very first large counterattack against _You Know Who_ and when this mission was over – he would make sure that they didn’t stop. The training would continue, the planning would continue, and they would do what they should have done years ago and take down the opposition by systematically taking out every facet of _You Know Who’s_ army.

Arthur checked his internal timer, waiting until precisely 7:39 am before cutting and sealing the sewer. Only the Northern one would be left open for a backup escape route as they could not afford to have any werewolves getting outside of the wards. Then he re-covered the pipe and stood silently in the rain, waiting for the signal from Shacklebolt as his hand ran over the pocket of his robes – ensuring that the bomb was still there. The rain echoed loudly in his ears as the seconds ticked by and the tension started to grow, then the familiar tingle across his arm came with Shacklebolt’s note and he apparated himself to the edge of the wards to meet Remus. Even disillusioned he knew that Remus was there. He could feel the man’s presence even before they exchanged their agreed upon code word and then set off through the new wards toward the base of the building.

His eyes darted to the left as he walked quickly across the soggy wet ground, taking in the sight of the two dead bodies – both were fully intact but their eyes stared lifelessly up toward the sky. He didn’t even need to wonder how Nasir was able to take out two patrolling pairs in less than a minute. It was clear from the remaining evidence, but the bodies would be taken care of when the explosion went off so he walked past them silently. The explosion was just another thought that made his stomach twist in discomfort but he bit it down and forced himself to continue.

When they were just a few feet from the base of the building Arthur saw Nasir appear in one of the broken glass windows, giving them both a single tilt of his head to indicate that that was where they were to enter. It was unnerving to note that the man seemed to be watching their approach even though they were disillusioned and he could not see them, though then again – perhaps he very well could. Arthur felt his pulse quicken as he carefully climbed through the small opening after Remus before removing his disillusionment charm, casting a quick drying spell on his robes and a muffling spell on his feet.

The second he crossed the threshold of the window the sound of the rain seemed to become louder as it echoed throughout the decrepit building, pinging loudly off the metal as water drizzled down the broken walls and flooded the old concrete floor with puddles. It mixed with the echo of screams and low soft growls and it made his spine stiffen with anticipation of what he was about to see. He felt a heavy silencing charm surround them like a bubble before Nasir began leading them at a breakneck pace through the building and down a broken set of stairs. He weaved easily under the broken beams despite his typical unnaturally stiff and still appearance. His wand was clutched loosely in his right hand, his movement precise and quick like he’d taken the route a million times before.

Arthur felt his heart race as Nasir motioned for them to step around a broken step and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes.

They were burning with an intensity that he’d only ever seen twice.

The first time was when he’d shown Arthur his runes, and the second time was when he’d grabbed Hermione and tugged her towards him in the living room of the cottage.

He felt his stomach knot with what could only be described as fear.

He would never understand why Hermione let that man touch her – why both she and Harry seemed comfortable with him. Either they were both so confident in their own abilities that they trusted that they could defend themselves against him. Or, as he’d come to realize while he’d laid awake thinking about the scene that had unfolded in the cottage Saturday night, both she and Harry knew if Nasir wanted to kill them, they’d be dead. So perhaps they knew and had accepted that fact and decided to trust him anyways.

Regardless of the reason, Nasir’s fascination with Hermione was disturbing. He watched her in a way that could only be described as obsessive and it unsettled him. It was obvious to anyone who watched them for longer than a minute that she was his main interest – though as the week went on, Arthur had started to notice that Nasir’s glances toward Harry had shifted into something almost equally as concerning.

He didn’t like it. Yet the duo seemed okay with it, so he’d bit his tongue and decided to trust them. They’d made it this far after all – they’d unlocked the secrets of the werewolf den, the banding magic and developed a shield charm that could save lives. They were debatably better leaders and more effective in the war efforts than Dumbledore had been. They provided guidance and they had a solid plan that they _shared_ with the team except for one small aspect and he understood that it was only because they couldn’t risk word of that plan (whatever it was) getting back to _You Know Who_.

So despite the fact that the man before him unnerved him, he would trust Hermione and Harry – and thus, he would trust Nasir.

For now.

They reached the main underground level of the den just before 7:44 am and Arthur and Remus both took a second to recast their shield charm and set their timers before making their way through the small, dim, narrow hallway toward the center of the base. He couldn’t hear the rain anymore, but he could hear the heavy sound of breathing followed by the occasional scream as he fought to keep his own breath under control. He’d known that the pace would be fast, but Nasir had moved them even quicker than he’d anticipated all while keeping them surrounded by a silencing charm.

His eyes flicked to the left as they passed what seemed to be a dirt ramp and he felt his eyes widen as he took in the sight below. It was precisely as Nasir had described, exact to a bloody tee – but far more graphic.

They’d dug huge pits into the dirt below the building to house the werewolves and there were small single dugouts in the walls several feet above the pit to house some of the extra human bonded pairs. In the bottom of the first pit all he could see was a pile of fur. It was almost impossible to distinguish the individual bodies as the werewolves slept on the wet muddy ground. The stench of it was suffocating, he could taste the rot in his mouth as he walked by. They were living in their own filth, surrounded by decaying corpses and bones. Arthur fought back the urge to vomit as he took in the sight of the rotting dismembered limbs that littered the ground between the sleeping bodies as their deep breathing rattled through the darkened lair and set his nerves on high alert.

He’d not been prepared for this.

It was so much worse in person than he ever could have imagined and he began to understand what Hermione, Harry and Nasir had been talking about. These people… some of them, if not most of them, were too far gone.

His body tensed with fear as they quietly snuck past the den of sleeping beasts – his mind agitated with the knowledge that even one of them was capable of tearing them to pieces in a single bite. He forced his eyes back to Nasir’s indifferent posture as he continued to lead them silently down the hall and he made a mental note to thank Hermione for the scent blocker charm. There was no way they would have made it this far undetected without it.

When they got toward the end of the hall Arthur could make out the low voice of a man speaking, and he realized that the screaming was actually coming from a room several feet away though he could not make out the man’s words. Nasir slowed and turned to face them, motioning for them to stop and then Arthur felt the silencing charm around them double to an almost choking level before the man’s low voice echoed quietly but quickly around them.

“These are the holding cells for new captures and new creations,” Nasir pointed to the two thick doors on the right side of the hall. “I suggest that you send these groups back using your port keys immediately as we won’t have time for any others – I’ll help Remus with the new creations and keep watch.”

Both Arthur and Remus nodded, each moving toward a door and unlocking it as Nasir turned his burning gaze to the door with the newly banded werewolves. It didn’t take long for Arthur to unlock the door, it was secured only with a simple charm – nothing else was needed to contain muggles and it was clear that they had not bothered with extra security or effort. Arthur heard the three new werewolves snarl and snap at the door as Remus and Nasir rapidly cast tethering charms and stunning spells through the barred window before they dared open the door.

Arthur felt his heart spike with agony when he opened his door and saw the newly captured muggles – they all cowered against the opposite wall at the sight of him. There were seven in the room. Some of them were bruised, some of them were bloodied, all of them were terrified. One girl only had on an oversized sweater which she was tugging down to keep it stretched past her hips and he quickly realized that the shirtless man in the room must have given it to her because she’d been brought in naked. Bruises and blood covered her legs and he felt the sickness in his stomach build.

He grimaced.

He’d wanted to save more. He’d wanted to un-band as many werewolves in the pit as he could, but he knew that there would not be enough time. After seeing them – deep down he knew there was no way he could save them, not like how he’d wanted to. They’d designed their only two port keys to drop off in two separated locations at the safe house. The intent had been to transport the uninfected muggles separately to one spot and any werewolves they could capture to the other enclosed and protected space so that the muggles were kept safe. If Remus used his port key now to send back the newly created werewolves – they would not be able to save any others.

He hated knowing that it was the only option.

He heard Remus declare that he and Nasir had already successfully un-banded the three werewolves even though it had been less than a minute and Arthur knew he needed to pick up the pace, he couldn’t allow himself to get trapped in his own thoughts or overwhelmed by the conditions around him. It wasn’t how he’d wanted this to go down, but he’d made a promise to come back and even he could see that he’d been overly optimistic in his original hopes.

“We’re here to get you out,” Arthur said calmly as he pulled his port key from his robes and every single one of them flinched and tried to press themselves further into the back wall.

“Stun them and be done with it, Arthur,” Nasir’s deep indifferent voice rang out almost coldly behind him. “Tether their hands to the portkey – we don’t have time.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched but he flicked his wand and seven bodies dropped to the ground in quick succession. Nasir was unfortunately right – they didn’t have time. It was already seconds after 7:46 am and he still needed to destroy the research and set the bomb. His eyes flicked back to the tall dark man who had returned to standing in the dirty hallway as Remus finished transporting his own rescues using his port key. Arthur felt an odd feeling creep down his spine as he eyed the man.

Something was different in the way Nasir was standing.

Something was off.

Yet he couldn’t be sure because the entire situation was tense and moving so quickly, he barely had time to think while the eerie feel of the repulsive building ate away at his calm. He couldn’t tell if his increased anxiety was simply because of the nature of the mission, the dissolution of his original hopes, or if it was truly related to the shift in man before him that he seemed unable to pinpoint.

He forced his eyes back to his task and expeditiously tethered the hands of the muggles to his port key, hitting them each with a final stunning spell before he activated the port key and sent the group to the safe house where Luna and Andromeda would be waiting to further stun and clothe anyone that they saved. Fleur would join them immediately after Bill had returned to work and changed places with her and as the small group of bodies disappeared from view, he knew that they had at least saved some lives.

Though it did very little to settle his unease as he returned his gaze to the mysterious man before him and made his way back out into the hall to press onwards. He was sure that something was different, his voice, while still indifferent, had almost sounded impatient. As if there was something else here that he wanted to do, or like he knew something was about to happen that he’d yet to share. His body seemed almost tense, his grip on his wand had tightened and something dark and deadly was radiating from his body.

“One room left,” Nasir’s deep voice was low, and it echoed with a darkness that made Arthur’s stomach drop in anticipation as he led them the last two steps down the hall and into the final room. Cold fear ran through Arthur’s body as the air in the room became tight, Nasir moved soundlessly, unnaturally – like a predator stalking its prey as a heavy silencing spell snapped shut around them and his dark slow voice resonated like death across the walls. “Hello, _Arlo_.”

He moved so quickly that Arthur was barely able to register the short gray-haired man to the left. Or the way that the man’s body had frozen at the sound of Nasir’s voice before the tanned man closed the distance, grabbed Arlo by the throat and slammed him against the wall with so much force the concrete behind him cracked. The man choked and grabbed at Nasir’s arm as a strangled laugh poured from his lips.

It felt like time slowed as Arthur forced his eyes to move and take in their surroundings. The research notes that littered the tables around the room, the shelf of vials along the right, the naked young woman strapped to the dirty medical table who had screamed in terror upon their arrival but rapidly seemed to conclude that they were not on the same side as those who had captured her. She was now calling to them and begging them to let her go. Arthur forced himself to inhale before moving his legs into action.

“Remus, free the girl,” Arthur moved to the right side of the room and began burning the vials and papers as he kept watch on Nasir.

“On it,” Remus moved to the brown-haired woman and began working at the restraints that held her to the table as he spoke to her in a calm voice and tried to keep her attention on his face. “You’re going to be okay – what’s your name?”

“Ava,” her voice was hoarse from her screaming and her eyes kept flicking back to Nasir nervously as Remus undid each restraint with a tap of his wand and summoned the small paper medical sheet from the bench to the left and fastened it around her like a short dress.

“I – thought – th-they had – you killed – with the – rest – of them,” Arlo choked out as he stared at Nasir with what could only be described as a bizarre mix of fear and surprised amusement.

“You seem to be mistaken,” Nasir’s slow deadly voice sent a shudder through Arthur’s body. “Regarding who they tasked with completing the killing.”

It was crystal clear to Arthur now what the shift had been, what had set his nerves on edge and made him even more uneasy – the killing intent that radiated from the man was so violent and intense it rivaled the wrath of the storm outside. Arthur tried to remain focused on his task but could not help but watch from the corner of his eye as the scene unfolded between the two men. Nasir’s eyes had darkened with something that could only be described as deep hatred – though Arthur wasn’t entirely convinced that the man was capable of real feelings since the darkness seemed to pour off of him in waves of pure death. It all but suffocated the silenced room as the heat from the small fires that Arthur lit made it harder to breath.

Arlo choked out another laugh as his nails bit into Nasir’s skin and his feet scrapped against the wall below him.

“Haha – ha of course,” Arlo choked, a grimace forming on his lips as his nails drew blood from Nasir’s wirst. “How much – d-did they – pay you this time? What – did – they give – you – to come here?”

“Wrong again,” Nasir’s voice was so low and lethal that even Remus looked up and they both saw Nasir draw a silver dagger from his thigh. A dark and disturbing smile twisted across his lips as he spun the blade in his hand to grip it more tightly. “ _This_ – is personal.”

“For Nazira?” Arlo gasped as his eyes went wide with a look of shocked understanding.

“Goodbye, Arlo,” Nasir drove the dagger so hard through the man’s chest Arthur heard it clink as it hit the wall on the other side.

He’d barely seen the man move before the blade was buried to the hilt in the left side of the man’s chest and a cry of pain poured from Arlo’s mouth. Arthur watched open mouthed in horror as Nasir dragged the dagger down his torso, splitting him open in one quick pull before slicing horizontally across his lower abdomen. His innards spilled out across the floor with a sickening sound, they covered Nasir’s boots in red before leaking across the dirty floor and sinking into the grooves between the tiles – each organ making a soft thud as it fell to the ground. As if disemboweling him wasn’t enough, Nasir pulled the blade from the corpse and severed the head before finally stepping back and starring at the ground for a long tense second before he dropped the head to the floor in the pile of organs and turned to face Arthur with an indifferent expression.

“We need to leave,” his tone had returned to his typical impassive baritone and his eyes seemed completely void of the darkness that had been there seconds ago. “Are you done?”

“No,” Arthur felt breathless as his eyes flicked from Nasir’s face to the pieces of what was once a human being that now littered the floor. The whole exchange had happened in a matter of seconds and yet it felt like it’d been ages.

How on earth was this person human? How on earth could he do something like _that_ and become immediately disinterested in the situation afterwards? What kind of monster was this man and how the hell did he know Arlo?

Remus recovered first as the girl on the table stared at the mess on the floor in stunned silence. Though she must not have been too upset about it because her face quickly twisted into one of pleased disgust.

“I can’t get this last restraint,” Remus looked between Arthur and Nasir desperately. “I think it was tagged to Arlo’s magical signature but – now I won’t be able to get it undone.”

“What?” Arthur had already finished torching the last of the research tables and he quickly moved over to inspect the band, tapping it with his wand and bending down to peer at it more closely. He felt his heart drop before he looked back to Nasir in frustration. Clearly this man didn’t give a shit about the people in here, he’d come with the soul intention of killing Arlo and now they might have to leave this poor girl behind. “Nasir – this was tagged to him – we could have gotten him to unlock it first–“

“He would not have unlocked it,” Nasir said indifferently before moving towards them. He walked through the bloody remains on the floor as if they didn’t exist and Arthur nearly vomited once more when he saw Arlo’s heart pop under Nasir’s boot. Ava watched him warily as he approached, leaning away from him toward Remus as he rapidly inspected the restraint that wrapped around her left forearm. After a second’s pause Nasir’s eyes shifted indifferently back to Arthur. “We can’t undo this restraint and we’re running out of time – we must leave now – Arthur set the bomb.”

“Wait – wait just a second,” Arthur pulled the bomb from his pocket and quickly placed it on the floor behind him before turning back to the cuff and tapping it with his wand desperately. It seemed to be partially embedded into her arm and the few cutting and unlocking spells he tried did nothing to the metal. He didn’t understand why this restraint was locked but it must have something to do with the banding process or transformation. He gently grabbed the girl’s arm and tugged, but she groaned in pain and whole body flinched. Arthur could feel the panic building in his body as his timers in his head started to run out. He looked to Nasir and Remus desperately. “There _has_ to be something we can do – we’re right _here_ – we can’t just leave her here to die in the explosion, Nasir.”

“End it now quickly if you want to spare her,” Nasir said evenly as he turned and moved toward the door.

“ _Please_!” Ava grabbed the front of Remus’ robes, desperately clutching the fabric between her dirtied fingers as she sat up on the table and pulled at her arm despite the pain it obviously caused her. The small medical sheet that Remus had turned into a dress slid up her legs as she fought against the restraint, but she did not seem to care as her voice became a shrill panicked plea. “ _Please_ – you _can’t_ leave me here – please – I don’t want to die – _please_ take me with you!”

“Arthur, set the timer,” Nasir’s voice darkened as he turned and looked over his shoulder at them.

“Nasir – we can’t just leave her,” Remus was holding the girl’s hand as she clutched him tightly and desperately looked between the men in the room. “She’s not infected yet – she’ll make a full recovery!”

“Set it now,” Nasir turned fully to face them. He’d drawn his wand and his eyes had darkened once more. “Or I will leave you both to die down here.”

“Of course _you_ would,” Arthur’s face twisted in disgust as Nasir’s burning eyes flicked to him. “Once an Unspeakable always an Unspeakable – to you this was never about helping!”

“ _PLEASE_!” Ava turned to Nasir, her face becoming desperate. She tugged Remus closer as if holding him hostage. “Please you have to take me with you – I have a son! He’s just a baby! _Please_! I’m all he has left – HELP ME! _PLEASE – I’M BEGGING_ YOU!”

Arthur saw Nasir visibly stiffen, his gaze darting back to the woman on the table as something shifted behind his eyes. In three rapid steps he closed the distance to the table and in one swift motion Nasir drew his silver dagger and severed her arm just below the elbow above the restraint. Her scream rang out through the room as blood poured from her arm. The sound pierced Arthur’s ears as he backed away in alarm, watching as Nasir forcefully ripped her severed limb away from the restraint, the final threads of her skin ripping apart before he locked her arm under his against his side to hold it steady while he placed his hand over the bloodied leaking stump.

“Fucking Merlin! _WHAT_ are you doing?!” Remus cried out as the woman’s nails dug into his chest and she yanked to pull away from Nasir. Her blood seeped through his fingers, staining the front of his robes and leaking down his chest. Her face grew pale as he held her stump steady and Arthur watched in disbelief as the skin across the exposed bone began to knit itself back together.

“Saving her life,” Nasir said darkly his eye flicking to Remus with a glint before he cast a quick _ferula_ on her mostly healed arm. The bandages closed around the open wound and stopped the rest of the bleeding. “Now _set_ the timer.”

Evidently most of the woman’s pain must have dissipated when the wound knit back together because she stared up at Nasir blankly and murmured a thank you. Her fingers were still tangled in Remus’ robes, tears stained her pale white cheeks and she began to sway unsteadily on the table from blood loss. Her gaze drifted to Arthur as if in a daze and then her eyes went wide at the same moment that Nasir rapidly began to turn around to face him – and she began to scream for a completely new reason.

Arthur saw Remus’ eyes widen in horror before he felt it – the bone in his leg snapped. He _heard_ it. A loud crack splitting through the air as it cut through his flesh and tore through his pants. His mind registered the feel of his skin shredding at the same moment that he heard a low growl fill the room. Nasir had turned around, his eyes flicking to him before Arthur was knocked to the ground with so much force he couldn’t breathe. Not even a second later something hot and wet sprayed across the back of his neck and he forced himself to roll over despite the agony. A groan of pain poured through his lips as he stared at the bloodied white bone the stuck from his leg and the blood that leaked from his torn pants as the sound of a hundred waking werewolves filled his ears.

He felt his body growing cold with shock.

Remus’ wand was drawn, the werewolf behind him was split in half and Nasir had dropped the woman’s stump to slaughter the second werewolf that entered the room. They must have been the timed internal rounds, which meant they were _officially_ out of time – and they’d just set off the damn alarm.

Arthur felt his hands start to shake as he pulled the pack of supplies from his pocket and downed a bottle of blood replenishing potion before daring to try and move anything else. He could hear Remus calling to him as he pulled the woman from the table, but it echoed dully in his ears before he saw a tanned hand shoot out and grab his leg. It jammed the bone back into place with a rapid shove that made him scream out in pain as his vision blurred before the familiar burn of dittany stung like daggers across his flesh.

He looked up blearily to see Nasir kneeling before him as he felt bandages encase his leg tightly. Arthur saw him pull a small potion bottle from his black robes – it wasn’t part of their kit. The man downed all but a third of it and then he reached forward and grabbed Arthur’s face – dumping the last bit down his throat before tossing the bottle aside. Arthur nearly choked on it, he saw Nasir’s pupils dilate and then he felt a strange heat flood his body. The pain in his leg started to numb and Nasir hoisted him from the ground with an ease that could only be granted from a very well brewed strength potion.

“Remus bring the girl, or this was all for nothing,” Nasir’s voice was almost menacing as he looped Arthur’s arm around his shoulder and all but carried him from the room to the hall.

“I haven’t set the bomb,” Arthur groaned as he limped quickly beside the man and kept his wand gripped tightly in his hand. He didn’t want to know if it was a bite or if he’d simply been hit by claws. It didn’t matter – the only thing that mattered was that they needed to destroy this place and get out, but Nasir ignored his comment and tugged them to the right. He moved them farther down the hall instead of going back the way they entered, Arthur could hear the howls behind him and he immediately knew why but he tugged on the man anyways to stop. “Nasir – I didn’t set the timer – Remus!?”

Remus was moving behind them, the woman was still clutching his robes like death, and she was shaking terribly on her feet as he kept her moving at a run. “I didn’t set it either – Nasir – the timer, we need to go set it.”

A loud snarl cut through the air behind them and Arthur grunted as Nasir pushed him against the wall as something green shot in between them. The tanned man instantly hurled three green shots of his own and two men and a werewolf fell to the ground in the hall with a thud.

“There are other ways to burn this place down,” Nasir said darkly and grabbed Arthur again. “There’s a large open unused den at the end – I can get you to the Northern sewer through there.”

Arthur heard more of them coming, but this time it sounded like thunder. The first two had been internal patrols, they’d woken the den and the next three had come to check it out, and now – they were all coming. He could feel the ground trembling beneath his feet as they set off at a scrambling run. Whatever Nasir had given him, and he assumed that it was a very expensive strength potion laced with pain blockers, let him hobble on his leg despite the fact that he knew the bone was still broken and blood was still leaking from his torn flesh. There was a good chance that the bone would pop back out again if he stepped wrong.

The hall quickly turned to slick muddy dirt that dropped into a pit. Nasir held his weight as they all but slid down the ramp into the large open dimly lit space. Water covered the bottom of the farthest half of the pit and they skidded in the mud before ducking as something shot from a ledge across the space. Arthur felt his chest tighten as he took in their surroundings – they’d left one kill box for another.

A string of wizards lined the top of the den and began hurling spells at them as the werewolves flooded down the ramp on the left. Arthur recast his shield charm as Nasir blasted a hole in the wall farthest from them and storm water gushed from a large open pipe, filling the lower half of the pit with an even deeper pool of water.

Arthur felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest as he cut three men on top of the ledge down only for them to be immediately replaced by more. Nasir began taking out the flood of fur that was threatening to destroy them as they tried to move across the room to the sewer. Remus was moving toward them, keeping the woman shielded and splitting werewolves open behind him, picking off the ones that managed to lunge past Nasir’s first set of attacks. Mud and dirt flew everywhere, the ground rattled from the attacks and his mind was deafened from the sounds of explosions. It was like a muggle airstrike inside an underground cave – nothing but explosions and teeth and claws and fur and death as spells flew about, encasing them like a swarm of black flies. They were almost pinned down, the only reason they’d yet to die was because the werewolves were being funneled in through the small hallway opening so it bought them time as they tried to cross the pit.

Arthur’s gaze flashed back to Remus as he cast another _sectumsempra_ to split a man on the ledge and his eyes widened in panic. He screamed to him as he saw a werewolf dodge Nasir’s attack and dart along the wall to Remus’ left – but Remus saw it too late. He tried to push the woman out of the way as the werewolf grabbed him across chest and shoulder, but its teeth grazed her shoulder before she fell to the ground. Ava slid into the mud, falling to her knees, sliding and struggling to push herself up from the ground with her single hand as she groaned out in pain. Blood ran down her arm as she turned back to Remus and Nasir split the werewolf in half.

“Remus!” Arthur ducked as the wall behind him exploded and Nasir turned to fire back a counterattack at the ledge. He saw Ava help Remus shove the dead werewolf corpse from his body. His eyes flicked to Nasir and the strange expression on the man’s face made his heart sink – it wasn’t enough.

They weren’t enough.

Not like this – they were outnumbered. There were too many. They just couldn’t keep up and they wouldn’t make it out of here alive.

Then he saw something dark flick across the man’s face. Almost like he’d been calculating, like he’d reached a decision – and he moved in the most unnatural way Arthur had ever seen. His body twisted around to face the ramp to the left once more, but it happened so quickly it shouldn’t have been possible. Then he adjusted his stance, his back stiffening as he shifted his feet and raised his wand in a dueling form Arthur had never seen.

“Nasir–?” Arthur started to question as he hurled another spell at their attackers, but before he could finish his question bright red and orange flames erupted from the end of the man’s wand.

They curled across the ground, swerving around Remus and ravaging their way up the ramp – cutting through the werewolves like butter, dropping them to the ground and burning them to ash. The sound it made was deafening, it roared as if it were alive and it weaved with precision across the pit like a vicious animal, taking out targets one by one. Arthur shielded his face from the heat, sweat poured from his face as he tugged his last bottle of silver mixed dittany from his pocket. He could hear the wizards on the ledge screaming out orders as they cast wards against the fire and more of them came into view – he would need to cover the ledge as Nasir blocked the ramp, he wouldn’t be able to go to Remus himself. He looked to his injured friend, hoping to Merlin that the woman wasn’t too far gone.

“AVA!” Arthur yelled. The woman was huddled on the ground with Remus who was sitting up and looking pale as he downed a bottled of blood replenisher while still casting attacks at the ledge. She was staring in shock at the fire that poured from Nasir’s wand as it burned through the beasts, but her eyes flicked to him at the sound of her name. Arthur threw her the bottle. “Pour it on the wounds – NOW!”

The woman caught the bottle against her chest with her single hand, staring at it shakily before something in her eyes hardened. Her shoulders stiffened and then she bit the stopper, ripping it from the bottle with her teeth before she scrambled to Remus and dumped the potion across his shoulder.

Arthur turned his attention back to the ledge as billowing green smoke poured from Remus. He fired spell after spell as he ducked and dodged the attacks, and lifeless bodies began to drop into the pit along the wall. He heard a grunt of pain to his left and suddenly Remus stumbled into view, Ava beside him as he cast several spells toward the wall to help cull the men that were climbing atop it.

“Move to the sewer,” Nasir’s voice rang out and they started to dodge their way across the pit and into the water as Nasir continued to warp the fire through the room and take out the werewolves as they entered – though the number coming down the ramp seemed to dwindle as they’d clearly discovered it was a death wish. But they’d not killed nearly enough of them to put a dent in the numbers and he knew the werewolves were being held back.

Arthur’s leg shook dangerously beneath him as they moved. Remus was hunched, his left side was bloodied but he was still capable of moving and Ava stumbled weakly at his side as Nasir backstepped toward them. For a brief second Arthur thought that they were going to make it, they were more than halfway there as the heat in the room became unbearable and it grew hard to breathe – and then the ledge before them exploded and Remus and Ava were sent flying toward the sewer into the muddy water as Arthur landed painfully on his back. Nasir’s fire immediately went out, his hand cutting off the spell a split second before the wave of flames would have washed over them as it was blown by the explosion. His arms flew up before his face, his feet digging into the ground with what must have been a massive sticking spell as he braced himself and leaned into the explosion. Arthur felt the burning heat from the fire scorch painfully over his face as he saw the last remnants of flames wash over the tanned man’s body before werewolves began to pour through the newly shattered wall as they continued to stream down the ramp on the left.

Arthur felt his chest tighten.

They would be completely surrounded.

Remus and the woman might yet be able to make it to the sewer – but he and Nasir would not.

-x-x

Hermione ran through the sloping knee-deep water faster than she’d ever moved in her life. Her mind didn’t even acknowledge the smell as she trailed closely behind Harry, her heart beating in her chest like a drum as she felt wave after wave of spiking heart rates in her mind. She felt a tingle on her forearm and she glanced to see that it was Shacklebolt asking for an update – but there was no time to respond with details, she simply told him to hold again.

Something had gone wrong.

Very, _very_ wrong.

She flicked through each set of vitals as they made their way, observing each one for a second before flipping to the next one and feeling the tense anxiety that had riddled her body since the moment they met outside the cottage morph into full-fledged fear. She fought to bite it back as their legs drove them forward. She could see the tension in Harry’s body as he ran and from the way he gripped his wand she knew that he was just as terrified. They both knew that they were running into a death trap. They both knew that there might be nothing that they could do.

_But they’re still alive._

_They’re still alive_.

She repeated the words in her head like a mantra as they began to close the distance to the building and the sewer dropped sharply into deeper water before it leveled out into a second sloping decline. When they were 200 meters away, she felt the ground shake and suddenly the water around them began rushing toward the end. There was only one explanation for it.

“Harry, they opened the sewer!” Hermione yelled at him as they fought not to get swept under the rush of water. They used the movement to push themselves forward faster until the water had completely drained and they were running on bare slick metal. Their feet clanged loudly, it rang in her ears until suddenly the sound was drowned out by an echoing sound of explosions and screaming voices. Hermione felt her pulse quicken as her chest tightened – it sounded like they were running towards a fucking war zone and as they got within twenty feet of the broken end of the pipe heat and a familiar smell filled her nose.

_Fiendfyre._

Hermione felt her heart plummet into her stomach and Harry visibly tensed before her. Nasir had _specifically_ told them to _never_ use _fiendfyre_ in small enclosed spaces, _especially_ underground as it would be a deadly mistake. It consumed too much oxygen, there was a risk of explosive gases underground, there was nowhere for the heat to escape to and you could end up dead faster than a blink if you didn’t have immense control of your fire. If he was using it – then they were incredibly fucked.

A deafening sound echoed through the pipe as the ground shook and Hermione fell into Harry, both of them stumbling into the wall of the pipe ten feet short of the hole. The explosion shook the ground and Hermione struggled to right herself as the air burned with a heat that made her throat and eyes sting.

“We need to hurry!” Harry yelled as he grabbed her hand and tugged her forward, covering the last ten feet at breakneck speed.

Hermione slid to a stop, sweat pouring from her face as she looked out the end of the broken pipe and her eyes widened at the sight before her. It was a large open muddy pit. Werewolves were streaming down a muddy ramp on the opposite side, the wall before her to the right looked like it had just been exploded, the top was lined with wizards and werewolves were pouring through the hole at the base.

Remus was less than twenty feet from the sewer. He was covered in blood, his robes were torn and a small muddied woman clung to him, hiding behind his body as he tried to make his way to the sewer while werewolves ran toward them. They were drawing a line between them and the only other two people in the pit.

Nasir stood farther to the left, the sleeves of his shirt were burned almost entirely away, exposing his arms and the raw flesh along his forearms. Blood covered the front of his robes, his hands were covered in ash and he was stepping between Arthur and the ramp as he hurled an explosive spell at a wave of werewolves. Arthur was several feet behind him, his leg was wrapped tightly in bloodstained muddy bandages, he looked slightly disoriented as he tried to pull himself from the ground but he was still slicing down werewolves that poured through the middle.

It was so much worse than anything she could have imagined.

Aside from finding them all dead.

Without pausing for a second and without uttering a word Hermione and Harry jumped into the pit and immediately split off toward their intended targets, instinctively knowing exactly what they needed to do and exactly where the other would go. Hermione felt Harry’s pulse spike like hers and they set into action.

Harry would go to Remus and the woman as neither one of them seemed capable of walking properly and he was physically stronger than her. He could handle them both while Hermione could manage Arthur on her own. Nasir could still walk and didn’t need her physical support. She grimaced and bemoaned the fact that she couldn’t just tether the man and retract him – she wasn’t close enough; she’d have to clear the path and physically get closer since retractable tethers only worked close range.

“ARTHUR!” Hermione bolted towards him, dicing through the werewolves between him and her target with a quick succession of silent _sectumsempras_ at the same moment she heard Harry call for Remus.

She saw both Arthur and Nasir turn to look in their direction at the sound of her voice. Arthur’s eyes widened and Nasir’s face darkened at the sight of them as she cut her way across the room, dodging the spells that were blasted toward her by the men on the ledge and closing the distance between them. She heard an explosion to her right, the ground shaking as Harry broke the top of the ledge and blocked half the hole and crushed several werewolves.

A fresh wave of werewolves burst in through the left and Nasir ignited his _fiendfyre_ once more to take them out as Hermione rolled toward Arthur under an attack and hauled him up on his shaking legs. She fired down the center and split the guy who’d tried to cut her head off into pieces. Then the three of them moved their way back toward Harry and the sewer, ruthlessly cutting down their attackers as they slowly closed the distance to the exit to just a few meters.

“Harry!” Hermione screamed when she caught sight of a werewolf darting around his right while he was attacked by one on his left.

He ducked at the sound of her voice as he cast his spell so she could send her attack over his head and decapitated it. She felt her heart race with fear as she forced herself to take her eyes off him so she could take out the ones in the middle – she didn’t want anything to happen to him. The thought made her sick and she fought to force down her panic as she sent an attack at the ledge while the heart rates beat like a nauseating drum in her head and sweat poured from her body. She felt like they were in an oven but as Nasir’s fire burned across the ground and up the ramp he managed to massacre the werewolves in numbers that _sectumsempra_ just could not compete with.

She could hear her shield timer counting down as the hole that Harry had half sealed exploded open once more and dozens more werewolves and wizards raced into the room as a second hole blew open to the left. Hermione moved from Arthur to launch a round of spells to cover Harry as he lifted the girl into the sewer before he turned and quickly sent an explosion at the collection of wizards that had tried to flank him. He was holding the right side of the room with Remus while she and Arthur fended the center and Nasir abolished the left – but there were just so many of them. She knew that Nasir could wipe them all out with his _fiendfyre_ but it would burn them all to a crisp in the process.

She could feel her shield charm counting down in her head and she felt her stomach knot with dread.

Her eyes darted back to Arthur and Nasir and she felt her jaw tighten as her mind calculated. She couldn’t recast her shield until it fully ran out, which would be in seconds, but there were too many new attackers and she wouldn’t have enough time to complete the wand movements because the spell was too fucking long. She saw two werewolves coming from an angle towards Arthur as more careened from the right. She made a split-second decision and allowed her shield to clock out as she closed the two steps between her and Arthur and rapidly dismembered the beasts that were lunging toward him. She side stepped a spell hurled from the ledge, creating a small window of time and she began to recast.

“ _Plenus-“_

She ducked two spells as she spoke.

 _“Pro-_ ”

Three werewolves came from the left.

“tego _-_ _petram”_

Arthur cut down one.

“ _corPus-LoC-”_

Arthur cut a second one down.

“ _omo-“_

She knew she wasn’t going to finish casting it in time but she needed a shield and there wouldn’t be another opening with how rapid things were moving.

She grabbed Arthur by the collar as she finished her wand movements and physically hauled him back from the last werewolf as she finished her words, glancing to Harry to make sure that he was still safe and knowing that the purple spark wouldn’t encase her body in time. She’d be bitten – but she would live through it, the shield would kick in and then she would kill the beast, Arthur would be safe and then she’d be protected for another fifteen minutes which would let them get out of the den.

“ _tor!_ ”

She saw the jet of purple start to shoot from her wand as the werewolf’s open jaws moved toward her and she jerked Arthur to the ground out of harm’s way. She braced for the feel of its teeth cutting through her skin – knowing that she could not utter an attack until the purple spark had left her wand, she would never be able to move out of the way fast enough without magic and Harry was fending off a swarm that was trying to get inside the sewer after Remus and the girl.

Then the air left her lungs as something collided hard with her chest and she was sent three feet back into the wall behind her. Her purple spark followed, encasing her body as her mind barely registered the sight of Nasir’s tanned and blood covered hand before the sickening sound of crunching bone echoed around her. The werewolf’s jaws clamped around Nasir’s hand which filled the space where she’d stood only a fraction of a second ago – the switch had been instantaneous, and she saw his hand and wand shatter between large white fangs as the fire on the left side of the room instantly went out.

Her eyes shot wide, but she did not falter as Nasir drew his silver dagger with his left hand and drove it through the werewolf’s eye. She raised her wand and took out three werewolves behind him as she heard Harry shout to her and two more dropped to their right before Nasir severed its head from its body with what must have been a wordless _sectumsempra_. She hit another two werewolves behind him, covering the left side of the pit for him while Arthur took out two men from the center as Harry dropped three more on the right. Nasir yanked his hand from the dead creature’s mouth. His eyes locked to the mangled remains of his hand for a split second before he vanished the blood from his blade – then hacked off his hand above the wrist in one quick unrestrained motion.

“NASIR!” Hermione screamed to him, her eyes catching the glint of something gold and feathery jutting from the end of his arm next to the bone before blood started to gush from the wound at a dangerously rapid pace. His escalated heart rate was all but draining it from his body and she could tell from the way his pupils were dilated that he’d taken something – she suspected that he’d given some of whatever it was to Arthur too because his eyes were the same.

She saw him stagger a fraction before he clamped his left hand over the end of his right stump, she registered the sight of the skin knitting itself back together before she moved to run towards him with her potion pack.

Their eyes locked and she felt her feet stick to the ground, holding her in place, as suddenly time seemed to slow and the thick heated air around them grew tighter. His eyes darkened in a way that she’d never seen before. She felt her heart falter in her chest as black runes began to fade into view along his throat and arms. Her rational brain surmised that he’d just dropped a masking charm that he’d evidently been constantly holding in place – and she felt her blood run cold with understanding as more and more of them became visible.

The illusion was no longer necessary.

He was freeing himself up for something else and she already knew what it was.

“ _No_!” she shouted, tugging at her legs desperately as she cut down another werewolf behind him and one before Arthur. They were _all_ supposed to get out – she wouldn’t let it end like this, no one was going to be left behind.

“Go,” his voice was low, the rich baritone laced with a darkness that made her stomach roll and the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

He grabbed Arthur from the ground, hauled him to his feet with his single hand and all but threw the man to her. Blood continued to trickle from the end of his right arm as Hermione caught Arthur, and she heard Harry call to her once more as he covered their right flank and fended off the opening to the sewer while shifting his way across the few feet that separated them.

“Hermione!” Harry yelled from behind her, his voice dripping with urgency.

Hermione wrapped Arthur arm’s over her shoulder and cast a silent feather light charm on him to ease the weight. “Nasir, we’re _all_ leaving–”

“You gave me your word,” his dark voice cut her off as his eyes started to burn and then they shifted to Harry. “ _Harry_ – get her out of here!”

It was the one and only time that she’d ever heard him raise his voice and the intensity of it cut through her chest like a knife. She felt Arthur stiffen at her side as Harry’s tether pulled them both backward in a harsh tug before _fiendfyre_ erupted from the end of Nasir’s wandless left hand as he cut down a werewolf on the left simultaneously and Hermione’s eyes widened in shock. It cut across the ground between them, snaking its way up the ledge across the top and spreading down the wall like a wave as it consumed everything in its path. The roar of it was deafening and the heat was unbearable, it forced her to step backward with Arthur as she felt Harry’s hand grab her arm tightly, his barely audible voice sounding in her ear as he tugged her toward the sewer.

“We _have_ to go Hermione – now.”

She turned with Harry, dodging a spell from two men still left on the ledge. They were cut into pieces as Harry fired back and Hermione lifted Arthur into the sewer and told him to run. The woman and Remus were already inside making their way up the sloped pipe as the heat in the room caused the metal to grow hot. Hermione hauled herself inside, helping to pull Harry up the small ledge while taking one last look at the only man she’d ever truly considered her mentor and she fought back the urge to go try and save him. He looked unreal, he looked elegant and terrifying. He looked like death itself, dressed in all black and covered in blood as flames poured from his bare hand and surrounded him in a ring of red, orange and yellow fire. He shifted the line of fire before the sewer to block it off from the rest of the pit as he set the place alight – carving through the bodies like they were nothing.

She felt a sharp tug across her heart, and she clenched her jaw in pain. Then she turned on her heel with Harry and ran.

“Get Arthur!” Harry panted as he sprinted ahead of her to Remus and the woman. She could see in the dim light ahead that they were desperately struggling to make their way up the sloped sewer with their injuries.

“I’ve got him,” she caught up to Arthur quickly and wrapped his arm over her shoulder once more, casting a second feather light charm and using tethers to pull them along the pipe quicker. Sweat poured from her body as she moved them down the pipe at a rapid speed. She was drenched in it and she had no idea how Nasir was still alive and standing in the middle of the firestorm. She had no idea how he hadn’t blown the place up by hitting the gas line and while a small part of her was desperate to believe that he would still make it out – she knew that she’d never see him again.

She could feel a pain in her side as her breathing became labored, but she didn’t relent, she pushed them forward and forced Arthur to run despite his injury as the sound of the fire echoed down the pipe around them.

They needed to get out. They needed to get outside the wards.

She could feel Nasir’s calm and steady heart beating at a racing pace and she knew that he would not blow the place until they were safe – but there was only so long he would be able to hold it. She approached the drop seconds after Harry had just hoisted himself over the ledge after lifting Remus and the woman before him.

“I got him!” he called down to her as he lifted Arthur up over the edge while she jumped up and used a tether and sticking charm to quickly pull herself over. She grabbed Arthur once more as Harry moved before her to grab Remus and the woman. Then they set off at a rapid run, their feet echoing loudly through the sewer as they made their way to the exit at a full-on sprint and pulled themselves forward with tethers.

_This wasn’t how this was supposed to go._

Hermione’s mind raced as Arthur heart fluttered painfully in her head and he cried out in pain. She cast a levitation charm on his body, balancing him before her as sweat poured into her eyes. She could see a bone in his leg had broken free of his soggy bindings.

 _They weren’t supposed to get hurt_.

Hermione felt her jaw clench painfully tight as her eyes flicked to Arthur and she felt an anger spark to life in the center of her chest as she took in his burnt and mangled form. He was supposed to be safe – not maimed and injured and possibly infected.

 _We were all supposed to make it_.

She felt her chest constrict as her breaths came in pants. She hadn’t been able to save Nasir – and he’d made himself solely responsible for destroying the base _and_ protecting their escape. Her eyes flicked to Harry and her heart ached at the soot covered sight of him, the blood that covered his clothes and the strain across his shoulders as he hauled Remus and the barely clad woman forward.

 _I should have been stronger_.

She could hear the storm and see the rain as the exit came fully into view and they rapidly reached the end of the pipe. Remus was panting so hard before her she was worried that he was going to pass out or vomit. Harry was already lifting the woman through the burst pipe as Hermione came to a stop behind him, flicking her wand to start lifting Remus who looked ready to pass out as Harry took Arthur and carefully levitated him out next.

“Let’s go,” Harry grabbed her arm when the others were safely topside and he cast an _ascendio_ , launching them both through the opening and back into the storm.

The cold wind and rain stung against her heat burned face, it sent a shiver down her back as she landed on the soggy ground next to Harry and he instantly began to seal the sewer. Remus was tending to Arthur and the woman sat huddled on the ground with her knees drawn to her chest as she shivered uncontrollably. The second the sewer was secured Hermione pressed her fingers to her forearm and sent a single message.

 _Hr-Safe_.

A split second later the ground trembled louder than the thunder from the storm and the roaring sound of flames reverberated through the air despite the wards. Her eyes shifted to the building that stuck out above the trees – and her body went rigid at the sight. Flames burst out through the windows, weaving through the building and punching holes through the sides as it threaded its way through the concrete. It moved like it was alive, pulsing like a single beating heart until a great raging dragon burst through the roof and consumed the entire building. It wings burst out through the walls and torched the surrounding area.

Hermione felt the wards enclosing the space shudder before her as everything inside the bubble burned and melted under the extreme heat of the raging fire. It was larger than anything she’d even seen. It was violent, angry, beautiful and horrifying. She felt eight panicked hearts beating heavy in her head as her legs started to tremble and she grabbed Harry as he came to stand next to her. The stress levels soared, the panic grew, and the collective fear consumed her mind as Harry tugged her closer and they watched the inferno burn in awe.

She forced her mind to focus on the one and only steady heartbeat that thrummed quick but calm as the dragon raged and brought the building to the ground. Suddenly the ground shook violently as the deafening sound of an explosion went off, signaling the ignition of the gas lines, Arthur’s bomb and the complete obliteration of the den. Hermione’s fingers dug into Harry as she held him tightly, his arms wrapping firmly around her as she forced herself to watch the explosion unfold.

Her eyes pinched closed when the light from the fire became blinding and at 8:07 am she felt the calm steady thrumming heartbeat come to a stop after one final hard beat.

(To be continued…)

-x-x-

Hey friends!

So AO3 is not the best for chatting – so I made a discord account and a group! I’ve never used it before, so I have no idea what I’m doing :P

If you’re interested in joining here is the link: [https://discord.gg/uEYy9M ](https://discord.gg/yRJU28) [link expires in 1 day so comment if you need a new one]

I thought we could use it for recommendations ie. music, fics, pairings, movies, shows, recipes – I don’t know, literally whatever else you want it to be, I just thought it might be a fun little community. Open discussion welcome, I won’t be policing it, but mean or rude comments will not be tolerated as it is intended for lighthearted fun :)

If you are interested in participating in our just for fun writing challenge the details will be posted here: https://discord.gg/8DyfZkj

Know that you are loved <3

Stay safe my friends.

[Also ps. apologies to those who read my other fic _Red Ink_ as there was no update last weekend. I ran out of time as I spent my spare hours sewing masks… which is also why I am late replying to comments]


	49. Chapter Forty-Nine (ft. Ginny)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. So this chapter features a small scene from Hogwarts and gives us a little update on Ginny and Susan. I hope you enjoy it!  
> 2\. Sorry that this is mostly just injuries… I promise more plot progression next week :)  
> 3\. Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.  
> WARNINGS:  
> \- Blood, gore, injuries: the repercussions of invading a den of werewolves.
> 
> Updates on Sundays [+/- a day]. I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible but as of April 2020 this is highly unlikely.

**Dear Neha, thank you for nominating my fic. It means more to me than you could possibly know. I was unaware of this page, but it was flagged to me in the discord group and it made my week. David - thank you for your kind comment on the nomination post. I can't remember the last time that I smiled that hard. You two are simply too kind.**

The second that Nasir’s heart rate stopped the _fiendfyre_ went out, and the enclosed space and rubble was left burning under a slow steady blaze. Hermione’s grip on Harry tightened and she felt a painful hollow emptiness forming in the center of her chest as her eyes started to sting. She swallowed hard, forcing the emotional wave that threatened to consume her down as the ninth tag rang empty and silent in her head.

She didn’t have time for this.

She didn’t have the luxury of having _feelings_ right now.

She had seven other heart rates fluttering with panic in her mind and she had three people half-dead and crumpled on the ground behind her.

Her hands tightened on Harry once more and she felt him return the gesture before she forced herself to push away from him and step back. Her eyes met his, he was looking at her with a sadness and a deep worry that made her heart ache. She couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t deal with his concern right now, so she simply shook her head at him once as her jaw clenched into a tight line. She felt the tingle of a message appearing on her forearm at the same moment that a numbness started to encase her body. It felt like someone had cracked an egg over her head – a cold detachment was starting to run down her spine from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. It was hollow, it was empty, and a dull ringing began to sound in her ears. Adrenaline was still pumping through her body and keeping her on her feet despite her desperate exhaustion – but she could feel herself disassociating from her surroundings as she stared at Harry hard. She saw the concern in his eyes growing as she took a second step back and she felt her eyes harden and her body growing cold.

It hurt.

 _Everything_ hurt and yet none of it mattered right now.

The mission wasn’t over. There was still so much left to do, and she didn’t have a spare second to mourn or take a breath or hold Harry tightly and scream. They needed to leave. They needed to leave right _now_ , and they needed to get Mrs. Weasley and Fleur out of the Ministry as per the plan.

She needed to somehow heal Arthur so he could go into work. She felt her stomach roll anxiously before the coldness finally encased her entirely. It settled over her body like a thick blanket as she closed down the panic that had been consuming her mind and forced herself to focus on the immediate next steps. Harry’s hands lingered on her waist as she took a final step away, like he was hesitant to let her go because he knew exactly what was happening – he _knew_ exactly what she was doing and he was worried. He _knew_ that she was disconnecting herself so she could deal with what was left of the mission and she saw his jaw clench before he finally let his hands fall away and he nodded somewhat stiffly.

Hermione forced herself to tear her eyes away from him, she’d already wasted precious seconds since the explosion, and she could not afford to waste any more time. She swallowed hard and glanced at her forearm to see that the incoming message was from Kingsley, he was asking for an update. She felt the weight on her chest from her rune grow heavy as her eyes darted to the three other people who were huddled like a mess on the ground behind them and then her body became robotic as she set into motion.

“Harry, tell Shacklebolt and Bill to cut the blaze and leave now as per the original plan,” Hermione said as she moved rapidly towards Arthur, Remus and the woman. She dragged them closer together so she could grip them all for apparition. The woman flinched when Hermione grabbed her wrist, but she was too weak to fight against her pull and too dazed from blood loss to complain.

“On it,” Harry said as he quickly began sending messages to the team through his tag. She could feel the buzzing on her forearm, but she could also hear the tightness in his voice. She knew that he was tense with worry even though his body was responding robotically like hers regardless. He moved toward her as he sent the messages and then grabbed hold of Remus tightly. The man had vomited violently after being lifted to the surface and his breathing was ragged and wheezed – Hermione suspected that his lung was either punctured, or damn near close.

“Harry – grip my neck. I’ll hold Arthur and the woman and try to make this as smooth as possible. Arthur,” Hermione paused briefly as she looked at the injured man, his eyes were red with tears of pain and he looked slightly disoriented. She grimaced; she knew that she shouldn’t be apparating any of them with their current injuries, but she also knew that they could not stay here. They needed to get back to Shell Cottage where it was safe. She couldn’t heal them here; it was way too risky. “We’re going to apparate – this is going to hurt but I need you to try and stay awake.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched too tightly for him to respond.

Hermione hesitated for a fraction of a second as Harry gripped the back of her neck tightly, her eyes flicking to the woman whose wrist she held tightly. She was covered in mud and blood and was looking up at Hermione with both fear and awe.

“This is going to be unpleasant,” Hermione said to her quietly. “Just try to breathe.”

Without another second’s hesitation Hermione apparated all five of them to Shell Cottage. She tried to land them as softly as she could, but apparition was _never_ intended to be completed when injured because of the pressure that it put on one’s body. It _always_ made injuries worse. So, when screams broke out when they landed on the wet sand in the still raging storm Hermione was not at all surprised.

The woman collapsed on the ground by her feet the second the apparition was completed and began retching violently as fresh blood trickled down her arm where the skin had ripped open and torn wider. Arthur screamed out in pain, his hand shot to his leg where the bone had twisted during the apparition and was now sticking almost a foot out of his calf as blood gushed from the re-opened wound. His face was pale, and she could see that he was going into shock as the rain poured down on them. Hermione’s jaw clenched tight as she cast a feather light charm on him and wordlessly levitated him from the ground. She looked to see Remus clutching his chest in agony, he couldn’t seem to breathe, and his legs were shaking violently beneath him as Harry held his slumped body.

 _Fuck_ , she wished there was a way to stun an injured person but it was generally frowned upon in medical care as it impacted the healing.

“Harry,” Hermione called out quickly, her eyes flashing over to him to see that his eyes had hardened. He was entirely focused now – she knew that he would want to talk to her about what had happened afterwards but for the moment his attention was entirely dedicated on the three people bleeding out around them. “We need to get inside now – can you get her?”

“I got her,” Harry had already started to answer before she’d even finished her words. He moved quickly and picked the woman up from the ground like she weighed nothing, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist as he moved quickly toward the cottage.

Hermione carried Arthur with the aid of her levitation charm as he continued to groan out in pain with incoherent sentences. Each scream he made grated against her soul and threatened to break her cool detachment. She felt her heart rate spike with a fresh wave of adrenaline as they closed the short distance to the cottage. When they got within ten feet the door burst open and an extremely pale Ronald Weasley came rushing out.

“Dad!” he looked like he was about to be sick as his eyes took in the sight of them. “Fucking Merlin – _Dad_! What happened?! _What happened_?!”

“MOVE!” Harry shouted as he shoved past him, carrying Remus and the woman inside as Hermione followed closely behind him.

Hermione said nothing as she carried Arthur past Ron and through the entrance of the cottage, but she heard Ron following closely behind them as questions continued to pour from his mouth at an increasingly panicked intensity. Dean was standing in the kitchen with a look of shock on his face and for the first time since she landed them inside the wards Hermione realized just how loud the collective cries of pain were. Ron had probably heard them before he’d seen them and immediately come running out.

“Clear the table!” Harry had yelled at Dean the second he’d entered as she hauled a soaking wet Arthur toward the kitchen behind him. Dean hesitated for a moment before he pulled out his wand and everything on the table flew off to the floor.

Hermione pushed forward and dropped Arthur on the table as her legs started to shake. Her eyes latched to the man’s face as he groaned out to her in pain.

“It’s okay – I’ve got you,” she said quickly as she tethered him to the surface to limit his movements.

Harry had plunked the woman into a chair then dropped Remus into the vacant one next to her. She’d already curled her legs up to her chest – she was sobbing and shaking in her seat as her single hand latched over her ear to try and block out the sounds while Harry quickly began ripping Remus’ robes from his chest so he could assess the wounds.

Hermione rapidly cast a set of diagnostic spells, one appearing above each of the three injured people before she glanced to Harry once more. “Harry – what do you got?”

Everything felt like it was happening all at once and the voices in the cottage were growing louder as Ron came to stand beside his dad. His face grew impossibly white as his hand knotted into his hair and he watched the scene unfold with horror. He looked ready to lose it as Dean shrunk back into the corner with wide terrified eyes. She could feel the tingle of messages rolling in on her forearm, but she had no time to look at them or send anything back.

“Punctured lung – bite – torn ligaments,” Harry called as his eyes rapidly scanned the diagnostic charms above him, and he ripped the final shreds of Remus’ clothes from his chest and shoulder. Then his voice dropped, and his jaw clenched. “The girl is infected – but her wounds are shallow, I’m not sure what happened to her arm though – it looks like it was cut clean off, she might have been hit during the attack.”

“Fuck,” Hermione’s hands were moving over Arthur as she ripped away the tattered remains of his pant leg and vanished the blood soaked bandages that had temporarily held his leg together. “Broken tibia – cracked fibula – destroyed tissue, muscle, ligaments – all of it.”

Hermione felt her heart constrict in her chest before she uttered her next words with a grimace.

“Arthur is infected.”

She saw Harry’s shoulders tense as Ron’s voice cut through the air above the nauseating cries of pain that echoed in the small room.

“Infected?! _Infected_! Was he bitten?! What happened – Hermione – what happened?!” Ron was gripping Arthur’s hand tightly. He was looking at her desperately and adding no value while being completely in her way.

“ _Move_ ,” Hermione said harshly as she pushed around him. She quickly yanked her small potion pack from her pocket and dumped the contents onto the table. Harry had pulled out his small pack as well, but he’d not yet managed to untether her purse since his attention was flicking rapidly between the two injured people before him and he was focused on getting air into Remus’ failed lungs before the man turned blue. She did a quick mental calculation of the potions on the table and clenched her jaw.

 _We don’t have enough supplies out – or enough hands_ , she thought bitterly as the two of them continued to rapidly move around the injured people. Her eyes flashed to Ron and she groaned internally before she begrudgingly opened her mouth.

“ _Ron,_ where are Fleur’s potions? I need more dittany – grab it from her stores or get the purse from Harry’s pocket, he doesn’t have enough hands.”

“ _Hermione, please_ – is he going to be okay?! What happened, _please_?!” this time Ron’s voice broke as he spoke. He’d stumbled back when she’d pushed him aside and she could see that tears were forming in his eyes.

“Ron – Dean! Get extra dittany!” Harry yelled in frustration as he began trying to repair Remus’ lungs while simultaneously disinfecting the muggle woman’s wound. Her cries of pain rang out loudly as she writhed against the tether he had placed on her to hold her in the chair. They’d brought the muddy war zone into the small cottage and the current inhabitants had not been prepared for it. The cold wind was ripping in through the open door as thunder rumbled and shook the walls.

Hermione felt her stomach knot as her left hand started to shake while she opened the wound cleanser she’d wordlessly summoned from the pile of potions on the table. It was currently the weakest part of her body and she had overworked it during the extraction. She knew that the damage would not be permanent because it was fully healed, and Nasir had said it was okay to use it – but it was giving out on her just the same, and so were the muscles in her legs. They were starting to tremble more intensely, and she could see the fatigue that riddled Harry’s body too as her eyes flicked to him.

 _Come on body!_ she screamed internally. _Not now! We’re not done yet!_

Hermione’s eyes flashed back to Ron with annoyance at his lack of response to her direction but then she stiffened. He was looking at her with an expression similar to the one that Harry had given her when he’d seen her after Malfoy Manor.

 _This is his father and he’s not prepared to deal with this_ , she thought with annoyance. She groaned outwardly and forced herself not to yell at the redhead for his incompetence because she knew it would only make him even more useless. She knew he’d never seen anything like this – he wasn’t desensitized and able to block everything out like Harry and her. So as badly as she wanted to shake and scream at him, she didn’t.

“We don’t know exactly what happened,” Hermione said to the redhead quickly when their eyes locked, and she fought to keep her voice from sounding too cold and harsh. She placed a hand on Arthur’s chest and added two more tethers before dumping the wound cleanser down his leg. His screams filled the air and Ron flinched hard as he watched his dad fight against her tethers as she pressed down on his chest to hold him still. “We didn’t have a clean exit – he was bitten, yes – but I’m trying to save his life – I _CAN_ save his life – but I need _you_ to get your shit together and _help_ us. Get the extra potions that Fleur keeps. I need dittany, Ron – dittany, blood replenisher, calming draught and silver powder. I know this is hard – but I need you to focus!”

Hermione moved back to Arthur’s leg once the cleansing potion was done fizzing and she rapidly began to pick out the pieces of fabric that littered his wound, her eyes flicking up to the diagnostic charm to monitor his blood levels and stress levels before they darted back to Ron. She could feel an anger igniting in her chest as she stared at the incompetent redhead. His eyes were still teary and wide with shock as his gaze was locked on Arthur while her hands became stained with his blood. She looked to see Harry use the last bottle of blood replenisher they had out on the table to stop the muggle woman from blacking out while he treated Remus, and her already thin patience snapped. Arthur was barely conscious and was about to pass out or go into shock and she needed him to drink a blood replenisher first.

She didn’t have time for this shit.

In two seconds she was going to stun Ron, throw him from the cottage and start blindly summoning for potions and damaging the cottage to get what she needed.

“ _RON_!” she screamed his name harshly, her eyes blazing with anger as her trembling hand continued to tend to Arthur’s wound. The redhead flinched at the sound, it seemed to shake him from his dazed horror and his eyes darted to her immediately. “We _don’t_ have enough hands! _FUCKING_ _DO SOMETHING_!”

Ron’s eyes went wide and for a brief second she thought he was going to freeze up again, pass out or just continue to be entirely useless like Dean – who was currently in shock and pressed against the far wall with his eyes shut tight and his hands covering his ears.

She opened her mouth to stun him and get him out of the way – but then the unbelievable happened.

Ron’s jaw clenched, and he nodded. He turned on his heel and darted toward a large cabinet at the back of the kitchen, rapidly tapping it with his wand to unlock it and grabbing potion bottles from the shelf by the arm-full. He ran back and dumped them on the table before moving to Hermione’s side as she finished removing the last bits of the torn fabric from the open leg wound.

“What else can I do?” Ron’s voice was tight, his face was pale, but his eyes no longer looked crazed with panic.

“Give him one full vial of blood replenisher – the tall black bottle there,” Hermione’s eyes flicked back up to the diagnostic as she began removing the bone fragments from Arthur’s leg. “Make sure he swallows the whole thing – then help Harry – I’m about to set his bone.”

Ron grabbed the blood replenishing potion from the table and moved to Arthur’s head, coaxing the contents of the bottle down his throat before tossing the empty bottle aside.

“Can’t we give him calming potion or something?” Ron asked desperately as Arthur’s groans grew louder and sweat poured from his forehead.

“No – someone gave him something and its effect are still lingering – I can’t mix the potions,” Hermione’s eyes darted to the diagnostic once more and she took a deep breath before she cast several more tethers across Arthur’s body and he became completely immobilized. Her eyes locked to Arthur’s bleary unfocused ones and she gripped his hand tightly even though she doubted that he knew what was going on around him. “Arthur – I’m so sorry.”

Then, without hesitating she let go of his hand, grabbed the bone jutting from his leg and with a sickening crunch – she twisted it and jammed it back into place. The cry that split from his lips was deafening, it sent a shiver down her spine, but she ignored it – tuning out everything around her and allowing the cold detachment to encase her fully once more as she forced her mind to focus on the bone in her hands. She aligned it carefully so she could mend it with her wand. Arthur’s cries were short lived as he passed out the second her left fingers dipper further into his leg to keep the bone set. She fought against her tremors to keep everything steady as her bloody right hand slipped on the handle of her wand before she quickly cast the bone mending spell.

It was a rudimentary one, one that was intended to heal cracks or simple break – not massive breaks that stuck out of a leg. Thus, she had to hold the broken bones in the ‘ _right place_ ’ for it to work – but it was the best that she had as she’d not yet mastered the trauma repair spells that would have been used at St. Mungo’s for such an injury.

She made a mental note to add the trauma spells to the top of her list of magic that she needed to perfect as part of her training. From the corner of her eye she saw Ron pale further, but he continued to help and was currently pouring silver-mixed-dittany over the muddy woman’s shoulder under Harry’s verbal instruction. A quiet pop sounded somewhere outside and Hermione twisted in time to see Bill running into the cottage with his wand drawn as lightning flashed behind him.

“Harry, Hermione – oh my – _fuck_ – what happened?! Is everyone okay?” Bill ran toward Hermione just as she’d finished healing the bone and summoned a bottle of dittany and silver powder.

“Sort of,” Hermione said tightly her eyes flicking to Bill before she began sprinkling the silver powder over Arthur’s leg. “Everyone is alive – and they’ll be okay soon, but you’re supposed to be at the Ministry – we need to extract Fleur, what happened?”

“I know – but Shacklebolt sent me here after we extinguished the blaze and took down the wards because you weren’t responding,” Bill moved toward his father and his face grew pale as a grimace formed across his face. “Though now I can see why you weren’t – what can I do – what do you need?”

“Nothing,” Harry’s voice was tight, but he gave Bill a quick sympathetic look over his shoulder. He’d finally managed to inflate Remus’ lung and patch the hole. It looked like he’d pulled a fang from the man’s chest as a large white tooth was sitting on the floor by his feet. The greying wizard wheezed in a huge ragged breath of air before coughing up blood violently and groaning outwardly in pain. “We need you to get Fleur out – Luna and Andromeda will need her help and Hermione and I can’t go there until we’re done here. Remus how many did you extract?”

“Eleven total,” Remus wheezed, his eyes watering with pain as Harry rapidly summoned silver powder and began dusting it over the puncture holes in his chest and shoulder. Fresh blood had started to trickle out of the holes since it was no longer draining into his lungs. “Ten at the safehouse – three of them are werewolves.”

Bill nodded, his jaw clenching in a tight line as his eyes flicked back to Hermione in time to see her dumping dittany over the gaping wound on Arthur’s leg. Green smoke billowed from the wound as the skin and muscle began to reform.

“Alright – Hermione,” Bill paused as he begrudgingly moved toward the exit. His hesitation to leave was clear and Hermione understood exactly why. “Is – is he?”

“He’s okay Bill,” Hermione said as gently as she could. She began cleaning up some of the blood around Arthur’s leg as it continued to heal. “He was bitten but he’s okay. Did you have any problems cleaning up the explosion?”

“No,” Bill responded automatically, his brain working logically despite the fact that his eyes were still locked on his father’s battered form and were laced with concern. “Shacklebolt had cast some anti-muggle wards and blocking charms so the explosion wouldn’t be seen. We removed our wards, put out the fire and did a quick sweep – there was nothing in the area, no person alive within miles. We fixed the blast zone too, so it doesn’t look so circular. It will look like the gas line exploded like we’d planned. No one will know until tonight when Bellatrix comes by to inspect the place as per their usual schedule. Fleur and my mum have made a point of being _very_ visible in the office so far this morning so we should be okay with our cover.”

“Good,” Hermione nodded.

Bill’s eyes darted around the room and his brow furrowed before his eyes shifted back to her. “Where is Nasir?”

Hermione felt her spine stiffen as suddenly the room seemed to go quiet and emotions threated to distract her focus. Then a loud clap of thunder made her body flinch and she swallowed everything back down. She focused on the dull weight that sat on her chest because the burden made it easier to feel nothing.

“He didn’t make it,” she said stiffly, forcing her arms to keep working on the injured man before her.

Bill remained quiet for a long few seconds before he finally spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Hermione only nodded, the cold detachment becoming more hardened in her body as she kept her eyes glued to Arthur.

“What are we going to do about my mum’s extraction,” Bill’s voice was tight after another painfully long second had passed, though his eyes were once again locked to Arthur. “She only has just over half an hour left.”

“I only need another fifteen minutes tops,” Hermione said tightly, knowing that Arthur was about to have a very terrible day. “Once I’m done, I’m going to wake him up, load him up with potions and pain pills and he’ll be able to go into work.”

“You’re sending him to work?!” it was Ron who spoke, his voice was incredulous, and his face was twisted in pain.

“We have to,” Bill said tightly, and Hermione saw him swallow hard as he nodded once firmly. “It’s too risky to leave mum there and he needs an alibi for the full day with the right people or we are all fucked.”

Ron’s jaw tightened but he didn’t say anything else. Instead he followed Harry’s direction to give the woman a calming draught potion.

“Bill,” Hermione said in the calmest voice she could manage as her hands stilled by Arthur’s leg.

His eyes darted to hers and she could see the tension through his body as his jaw clenched tighter. She knew that he _knew_ what he needed to do but he was struggling to physically pull himself away from the cottage – away from Arthur.

“Go get Fleur,” Hermione said softly, her eyes locking to his intently. “I swear to you on my life – Arthur will be safe.”

“I know,” Bill said quietly, his voice like a whisper as he nodded once and then forced his legs to carry him back out into the storm.

Hermione heard the pop of him disapparating before she set a timer for fifteen minutes in her head and then focused her attention back on Arthur. She needed to repair every tiny scratch that littered his body and fix his burns so that he could function at work. It made her stomach roll to think that she was going to send him into work after being this injured – but they really didn’t have a choice. Mrs. Weasley had already been at the office too long and every minute longer put them at risk of being exposed. The woman had already sat through his morning department meeting, but she didn’t have the skill set to do Arthur’s job in full and she was likely barely getting by pretending to be her husband as it was. Hermione had briefly considered going into the Ministry to fill the role herself, but the reality was she would not be able to pass off as Arthur any better than Mrs. Weasley could, and they could not afford any mistakes or suspicions.

She also knew that despite the severity of his injury, he _would_ be okay when she woke him up. Despite how gruesome it looked; the worst part was actually over. Physically he would be fine. His pain could be managed, his leg would be functional – it would just be stiff and sore to walk on like how her muscles had been after reforming in September. He would be okay so long as his mind could rationalize what had happened and adjust to the trauma.

Hermione finished cleaning the blood from Arthur’s leg and inspected the new tissue – it seemed to have healed okay and all the muscles were in the right spot. She moved toward his chest, summoning a new bottle of dittany and quickly treating the small cuts on his hands and face before moving toward his head. Her left arm was shaking so badly now it had become weak and when she summoned a container of burn cream, she struggled to unscrew the lid. She was about to curse outwardly in frustration when a pale hand came into view and gently took the container from her shaking hand. Her eyes darted upwards and then widened in surprise.

“I’ve got it,” Ron’s voice was so soft it sounded sad. He quickly unscrewed the lid and then looked up to meet her gaze. “What do I do with it – just cover the burns on his face?”

“Yes,” Hermione said as her brow furrowed a fraction. She reached forward and took some on the index finger of her right hand and began carefully spreading the cream over the tops of Arthur’s burned hands. “Put a thin layer over his whole face. It needs to set for ten minutes – then we wash it off and it should be healed. Work quickly though because we’re running out of time.”

Ron nodded, placing the open containing on Arthur’s chest so that they could both use it as they began coating the burns that littered his skin. Hermione’s eyes darted up to Harry and she noted that the woman was now sitting calmly in the chair by his side. Her eyes were half lidded; her breath was coming in low slow gasps, but her wounds had _healed,_ and her vitals were reading strong on the diagnostic charm. The magic had taken – her body had not rejected it.

Remus’ wounds were now closed, though he looked beaten and worn. He sat slumped in his chair; his glazed eyes locked to Arthur’s unmoving form as Harry summoned small globs of burn paste from the opened container on Arthur’s chest to tend to the burns that littered his skin.

An eerie quiet settled across the cottage as all three of them worked in silence. The rain was pouring in the door of the cottage, but no one paid it any mind as the thunder continued to rumble and the lightning lit up the sky. As the burn paste was setting Hermione made her way over to Harry and untethered her purse from his pocket so she could get out their broader potion collection while he finished tending to Remus. She pulled out a few different bottles and placed them on the kitchen counter before she pulled out a collection of muggle medications as well. She received a message from Bill that he had successfully swapped places with Fleur and then Fleur sent one to say that she was at the werewolf safe house. Shacklebolt indicated that he was back at his post and his absence had been undetected and Hermione notified Mrs. Weasley that she needed to prepare because her swap with Arthur would be imminent.

When the ten minute mark hit Hermione quickly washed the dried burn paste from Arthur’s skin and then prepared to wake him up.

“ _Rennervate_ ,” Hermione muttered for no other purpose than the benefit of the others in the room. She hadn’t needed her wand or her words to cast the spell.

Arthur’s eyes shot wide, his vitals flared, his heart raced, and his breath came in short quick gasps as his mind reacted to the pain that he’d been in before he’d passed out. Undoubtedly, he was still in pain, but she knew his reaction would lessen once his mind caught up to the current state of his body.

“Arthur,” Hermione said firmly as she squeezed his hand and placed a hand on the side of his face, directing his gaze toward her and waiting until she saw recognition in his eyes. “Arthur – you’re okay, it’s okay. Just breathe – I need you to focus on my face and tell me if you can move your left toes.”

“Hermione?” his voice was tight, and she could see the confusion in his eyes as his breathing slowly began to regulate. Then realization dawned across his face. “Oh Merlin – are you okay? Is everyone okay? Did we get everyone out? Was the den destroyed?”

“Arthur,” she tightened her grip on his hand. “Everyone is fine, the den is destroyed – I need you to do what I say because we need to get you to the Ministry so we can get Mrs. Weasley home. Wiggle your left toes – can you do that?”

Arthur nodded and then grimaced in pain, but she saw his foot moving at the end of the table.

“Good,” Hermione nodded, her eyes checking his diagnostic to confirm that the final lingering effects of whatever Nasir had given him had worn off. “I have a collection of potions I need you to drink okay – I won’t lie to you Arthur; this is going to suck but I have to get you moving. So on the count of three I’m going to sit you up.”

Arthur nodded and clenched his jaw.

“One, two, three,” Hermione released the tethers and pulled Arthur from the table. He groaned loudly but he managed to sit up and twist himself around so his legs dangled off the edge of the table. His eyes were creased in pain as Hermione summoned over the first of a string of potion bottles. “Blood replenisher first – then calming draught to relax your muscles, then pepperup to clear your mind and then some muggle pain pills okay?”

Arthur diligently took everything that she handed him without question, and Hermione watched his vitals on the diagnostic to ensure that everything was working according to plan. When he had finally swallowed everything, she had two minutes left on her timer and just under fifteen minutes before Mrs. Weasley became Mrs. Weasley once more.

“Okay,” Hermione breathed out before she crouched down on the floor and took his leg in her shaking hand. “I’m going to numb your leg from the knee down – you won’t really be able to feel anything so just make sure that you don’t do anything obviously strange today like stand in a puddle or trip over it. You’re going to have to be careful using it because you won’t be able to feel it very well but it will get you through the day with less pain.”

“Alright,” he breathed as he waited for her to apply the charm. She saw his eyes look around, taking in the room and the people around them as she worked on his leg and cast the spell Nasir had taught her. Then she saw his face fall. “He didn’t make it.”

His voice was so low and quiet it made her heart still in her chest as she hauled herself from the ground and helped him to stand. She ignored his words, not wanting to address the fact that Nasir was gone for a second time and needing to keep that fact buried in the base of her mind so she could continue to do what was needed. She also knew that discussing it now was not the time – he needed to leave before Mrs. Weasley’s Polyjuice wore off, they didn’t have time to debrief on the situation.

“How’s the leg,” Hermione said flatly, her face entirely void of emotion as Arthur swayed on his feet before her. But his face had suddenly crumpled, he gripped her arms tightly as his bloodshot eyes latched to hers.

“It’s my fault,” he said as his voice broke. “It’s _my_ fault Hermione – I – I’m so sorry – I wouldn’t leave – I – I was wrong about him, I didn’t think that he would – he stayed and I–“

“Arthur,” Hermione cut him off tightly as she gripped the man back in return. Her face twisted into a pained look as her voice dropped to a low whisper and she fought to keep her emotions in check while she held the rattled man before her. “Arthur I can’t even imagine what’s going through your head right now, but I need you to focus okay – I _need_ you right now – _we_ need you. The mission isn’t over yet and I need you to get it together for the next few hours. You need to go to the Ministry so we can extract your wife. I need you to do your job and pretend like everything is fine until your day ends at 4:30. Then you’re coming right back here to the cottage for the debrief, and we can talk then – I promise – but right now I need you to focus. Please – _please,_ Arthur – can you do that for me?”

His eyes were swimming, but he nodded. Hermione had no doubt that his head was currently flooded with the smell and sounds and images of what he’d seen in the den and she started to doubt the decision to send him to work. If he couldn’t process this or lock it down, they were fucked.

“How’s the leg?” she repeated more softly as she held him steady.

“It’s okay,” he all but whispered as he took a tentative step and tried to figure out how to use a limb he could hardly feel. He didn’t ask about the wound – if it was from a bite or a claw, and so she did not tell him. She knew that he probably suspected the former and she knew that he didn’t want to know just yet. He wasn’t ready.

As he figured out how to walk without falling with Ron’s support, Hermione cast several cleaning charms over his body to rid him of the dirt and smell of death that clung to him. She summoned blankets from the couch and rapidly transfigured them into clean clothes that perfectly matched his original ones before they’d been burnt and torn. She stuffed his pockets with pepperup, calming draught and a second dose of muggle pain pills. Then she handed him the clothes and he carefully made his way to the bathroom to change. The second the door closed Hermione’s eyes darted to Ron who had been eyeing her strangely since the moment that Arthur had woken up and her eyes naturally narrowed into a glare.

Yet shockingly, he seemed unfazed by her hostile reaction and instead he took two steps towards her, closing the distance between them to less than a meter and meeting her gaze with a level, open and very sincere stare.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. Hermione could feel Harry’s eyes on her, and she knew that he was watching the exchange even though he remained silent and continued to remove the burn paste from the woman. “You saved my dad’s life.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. It was such an uncharacteristically Ron thing to do and say that she wasn’t sure what to make of it. So she simply nodded and then sidestepped around him to start collecting up the potions that littered the table while cleaning away the blood and checking the messages that came in from Mrs. Weasley. Less than a minute later Arthur exited the bathroom. His eyes looked clearer and the diagnostic bubbles that followed him showed that the potion and muggle pills were now working in full affect. He seemed calmer despite everything that had happened, and his gaze looked almost normal as he made his way toward them.

“Are you ready Arthur?” Hermione asked as she moved toward him from across the kitchen and looked him over carefully.

“Yes – how much time do we have left?” Arthur’s voice was back to its traditional calm and even tone, and she could not help but give him a small smile as his eyes met hers once more.

“Ten minutes until her Polyjuice wears off. She just said that she is making her way to a swap point – I believe that you will be landing in the bathroom on the third floor and she left you a note in your desk about what she did this morning. Burn it after you read it,” Hermione said as she checked her forearm once more. Then she fixed him with a level stare and dropped her voice lower. “Arthur – can you do this? If we have to, we can just send her more Polyjuice potion, she’s offered to stay for the rest of the day and given what happened it’s not a bad idea.”

“No,” Arthur said with a quick shake of his head, his eyes were clear now from the pepperup potion and he seemed firmly resolved. “It’s too risky for her to remain there much longer as she doesn’t know the job well enough.”

“Okay,” Hermione said slowly, her eyes searching his face for any hint of hesitation, pain or panic. “Keep in contact throughout the day, send an update every half-hour and if anything goes wrong or something happens with your leg – you let me know and I _will_ come get you.”

“I know,” Arthur gave her a small smile, but it seemed laced with a deep sadness. “I know you will Hermione, you – you saved my life.”

Hermione swallowed as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her eyes shifting down to his chest as she shook her head and cancelled his diagnostic charm. “It was nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t _nothing_ ,” Arthur’s voice became hardened with a sternness that she rarely heard, and his eyes darted to Harry. “What you _both_ did wasn’t _nothing_ – it was _everything_. And without you we all would have all died down there–“

His voice faltered slightly before he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“I promise you that from this day forward I will do everything in my power to become someone you can count on – someone who can support you. You two have taken this burden entirely on your own and it’s not okay – it’s never been okay, and I’m going to change that. Training resumes tonight after the debrief and it will continue until one way or another this war is over,” Arthur looked at Remus, the exhausted gray-haired man was staring at Arthur with a sober expression and he gave a single slow nod before their tags collectively buzzed. Arthur glanced down at his forearm and read the word from his wife, then he took a small portkey out from his pocket. “Ten seconds – right then. Ron, you help them with whatever they need. I’ll see you all here at 5 pm sharp. Hermione, Harry – thank you both. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

With that Arthur activated his portkey and vanished from sight. Hermione felt her heart clench tightly in her chest with pain as she watched her surrogate father return to the Ministry. He seemed to have gathered some sort of inner courage but still – she hated it. She hated everything about this situation and yet there was little she could do about it aside from watch his vitals and bust into the Ministry with Mrs. Weasley’s port key if anything went wrong.

Which they would do.

She and Harry had discussed that the day prior and they were both fully prepared to extract anyone on the team who needed it regardless of where they were. She just hoped to Merlin it wouldn’t be required because it would be incredibly dangerous.

A few seconds later Arthur notified her that he was secure at the office and everything was fine. Mrs. Weasley notified that she had returned to the Burrow as planned, she was waiting for the transformation to complete and then she would be bustling about outside the Burrow as she typically would before going shopping at 9:30am as she always did on a Monday morning – keeping up her typical schedule and appearance in case anyone was watching their home.

Hermione felt her shoulders sag a fraction as her eyes shifted to the woman who was sitting quietly in the chair next to Remus. She’d been watching the exchange with an abnormal calm – though Hermione suspected that was largely due to the calming draught that Ron had gotten her to drink. Resisting the urge to sigh – there was still so much to do. They needed to finish things up here and then apparate over to the werewolf safe house to help.

Hermione forced her exhausted legs to move once more and she made her way over to the woman as Harry finished removing the final bits of burn paste from Remus’ shoulder. Ron had gone to close the cottage door and was quietly cleaning up the floor, while Dean was no longer anywhere in sight. He’d been held the longest at Malfoy Manor and clearly it had had a significant impact on his ability to handle stress.

“What’s your name?” Hermione said quietly as she stopped before the woman, her muddy form shifted slightly in her chair, her muscles tensing a fraction as Hermione knelt before her.

“Ava,” she said hoarsely, her dark eyes carefully watching every motion Hermione made.

“My name’s Hermione,” Hermione said as she looked the girl over before meeting her eyes once more. Harry had healed her up well. All her minor cuts were completely gone and so were her burns. Only the permanent scars on her shoulder remained as evidence of the events of the den – that and the fact that she was missing half of her left arm. Hermione had seen Harry unwrap it and apply dittany to the stump – it was fully healed but he’d re-wrapped it anyway. Probably so that Ava didn’t have to look at the blunt end of her arm. It was a thoughtful thing to do, a small nicety to provide after so much trauma and the thought of Harry taking the time to do it made her heart hurt more. “Where are you from?”

“Hinckley,” Ava said quietly, her eyes were darting over Hermione’s dirtied face and then they dropped down to her blood stained hands. Hermione saw the girl swallow hard before she forced her eyes back up to meet her gaze. “ _What_ are you?”

“I’m a witch,” Hermione said quietly and she watched the woman’s eyes widen a fraction. “I can use magic.”

“I’m not – I mean – I’m not dead, right?” Ava’s voice sounded small and hesitant, and for the first time since Hermione had seen her, she saw a flash of doubt cross the woman’s face. “This – this is real, right?”

“This is real,” Hermione said as she kept her voice calm and even. “You’re not dead, and you’re not imagining this – this is real. Which I know is hard to process – but you are safe.”

Ava nodded silently; her eyes were fixed on a spot over Hermione’s shoulder and her body trembled from the chill. The adrenaline that had kept her body moving in the den was gone and the calm from the potion had relaxed her body into an odd state of blankness. Though she still seemed to be processing everything going on around her remarkably well.

“Ava,” Hermione said gently, and the girl’s eyes latched to hers once more. “You’re going to be okay.”

Ava nodded again, her eyes darting toward Remus before she swallowed hard.

“He saved my life,” Ava said in a shaky voice, and Hermione saw Remus’ body tense under her gaze. Ava swallowed hard again, her eyes moving back to Hermione’s as her brow furrowed. “And the other man, your – your friend he – he cut my arm off to save me. They stayed for me and he – I – I’m sorry.”

Hermione gave the girl a tight smile. “Do you want to come with me to get cleaned up? I have some clothes that you can wear.”

For some reason the mention of something normal, like clothes, seemed to pull her from the quiet calm she’d fallen into. Her eyes shot wide and she immediately sat up straight in the chair though the tether kept her physically seated.

“My son!” her eyes desperately latched to Hermione and she reached forward with both hands to grab at Hermione’s jacket. She seemed to immediately forget that she was missing a hand. “My son is at home! He’s at home alone – you _must_ take me home, please! I never should have left him like that! I only ran to the corner store – I thought I’d be gone a minute – please, take me home!”

“I can’t take you home Ava,” Hermione grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly “It’s not safe, but I _can_ go get your son. I need you to tell me exactly where he is – where do you live?”

“In the Quarters – I have to go to him, please! He’s been there all night, he’s probably awake and scared! Take me home, now!” Ava’s voice had grown with panic and her grip was like death.

“Ava – which house?”

“Number 6 – wait where are you going?” Ava’s voice rang out as Hermione stood and pulled her hand from the woman’s grasp. “I want to go home! _Please_! Don’t keep me here – please!”

“I can’t take you home Ava,” Hermione grimaced at the pained look on the woman’s face. “You’re infected – it’s not safe – but I will go get your son and bring him here.”

“Infected?” her face had grown pale as realization seemed settle across her eyes and her body grew limp in the chair. Her voice became quiet like a whisper. “You – you mean by those animals – because I was bitten. Am I going to become one of those monsters?”

Hermione could see the pained terror that was forming across her face and she felt her jaw tighten. She’d wanted to have this discussion later.

“You will turn into a _werewolf_ , Ava,” Hermione said carefully, knowing that no matter how she said it the information would be hard to swallow. There was no point in lying to the woman, it would only damage the small amount of trust she seemed to have in them since she currently viewed them as her saviours. Lying or downplaying the situation would only make things more complicated later. “But _not_ a monster – they’re not one in the same.”

Ava glared at her. Her eyes hardened as some of the shock seemed to leave her face but it was quickly replaced with anger. “I _saw_ what they are.”

“You saw creatures being _abused_ by a terrible man,” Hermione said calmly. Before she jerked her head towards the quiet grey-haired wizard on her left. “ _Remus_ is a werewolf too – and he is _not_ a _monster_. He saved your life – what you saw is not what you will become, I promise you that.”

Ava’s eyes widened again, and her gaze darted back to Remus once more. “What do you mean?”

“Ava – we’re going to help you and I promise you that we will explain everything, but right now we need to go get your son and then we need to get to the safe house – once we are sure _everyone_ is safe, I promise you that we will answer all of your questions. What’s your son’s name?”

“Charlie,” Ava replied even though her brow was still furrowed, and she looked like she was holding back a million questions.

“We’re going to go get Charlie,” Hermione said calmly, casting a wordless warming spell on the girl and Remus before she turned to look at Harry. He’d finished putting away all of the potions with Ron while Hermione was speaking to Ava and he was standing near the table, purse in hand – ready to go. His eyes were still focused and hard like she knew hers were. “Remus – get a status update from Fleur and find out if she needs any additional potions or supplies. Ron – gather whatever Remus asks for, keep them warm, and get them some water. Neither of them move from those chairs. We’ll be back in three minutes.”

Ron nodded and moved to the kitchen cupboards to get some glasses.

“Hermione,” Remus’ rough voice caught her attention and she felt him gently grab her arm as she walked by toward Harry. She glanced down at him and took in his beaten and worried expression. He looked so much older than he was in that moment. “Please be careful.”

“We will be,” Hermione said, giving the man a tight smile before she followed Harry outside into the storm.

They both rapidly cast a shield charm as they moved and then wordlessly disillusioned themselves. Hermione reached out and grabbed Harry’s warm hand, knowing exactly where he was at her side even though she could not see him. He squeezed her hand tightly and she felt it tug painfully across her chest as she grit her teeth, set her mental timer for three minutes and then apparated them away with a loud pop.

-x-x-

**April 9, 1998**

**Hogwarts, 7:03 am**

Ginny stared blankly at the oatmeal before her, her right hand stirred the bowl with her spoon while her left absently rubbed at the burning sensation on the back of her neck. She could feel the raised letters, her fingers traced over them as she tried to ease the tension that radiated from the base of her skull into her shoulders.

_‘I will do as I’m told’_

It was the latest collection of words that now littered her body as angry red lines. It would take another two weeks for this set to fade into faint white scars.

The Carrows had very quickly found a way to change the charm on the pens from the Ministry so that it would cut into different places on the body – since they felt that layering the words on top of one another defeated the purpose. They wanted each phrase to be visible, legible – they wanted the students to see them and read them over and over again. Thankfully, but for reasons she had yet to figure out, none of the pens wrote on faces – yet. She scowled at the thought as she begrudgingly took a bite of the oatmeal before her and forced herself to swallow it. She suspected it was only a matter of time until the two sadistic bastards figured out how to charm the pens to write across their foreheads.

Even knowing this, she was happy to take it.

It was better than seeing the words on Beatrice – the tiny first year Hufflepuff who had gotten lost in the castle and was accidentally out past curfew a few nights ago. Ginny had managed to cause enough of a distraction to capture the Carrows’ attention so that Beatrice could sneak away with Susan back to the safety of the Hufflepuff common room, and thus she was the one who had wound up with that detention. She’d written line after line, feeling each letter cutting into the skin at the base of her skull – yet she’d hardly felt anything at all. She knew to grit her teeth and make it look painful so that the Carrows would continue to think that the punishment was _effective_ – when in reality, she’d taught most of the students a numbing charm to combat the torture. Yet even without the numbing charm the small cuts hardly phased her anymore. She’d become naturally numb to it.

She hardly felt them.

She smirked to herself as she shoveled more oatmeal into her mouth. Her eyes darted over to Neville and she fought the urge to smile widely when he gave her a wink. The Carrows were currently receiving their payback for her detention and what happened to Susan – they were down at the boathouse trying to stop an angry swarm of charmed flying cloaks and rocks from trashing the place and sinking the boats. It would keep them busy for the next hour at least and it would give the students some peace during breakfast and freedom to get to class safely.

Her eyes shifted down to the opposite side of the table and she gave Seamus an almost imperceptible nod. None of them sat together anymore – it was too risky. They rotated seats at random and kept their heads down. They didn’t speak to anyone in the halls either. They hardly ever looked at each other in the Great Hall and they floated by one another in total silence until they were safe in the Gryffindor common room.

At this point the Carrows almost exclusively assumed that if a student was not a Slytherin they were a threat – but not giving them any hint as to who was speaking to whom made it easier to implement counter attacks. She also knew that they did not fully appreciate just how united the remaining three houses had become. For the most part Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw operated as a single unit, but the Carrows still assumed it was the Gryffindors implementing the majority of the attacks. Or, more specifically: her and Neville. And while they were not wrong that she and Neville were the brains of the operation – they were entirely wrong in assuming that they were the only ones who set the traps.

Her eyes moved up to the headtable and she took in the worn and weary expressions of the professors as they forced themselves to eat. Some of them had lost a drastic amount of weight. Some of them looked like they were in a daze, while others – like her and her group of rebels, were silently bearing the burden while doing everything in their power to protect the students and fight back. She’d found allies in McGonagall and Hagrid – which had been expected – but they’d also forged allegiances with Flitwick, Slughorn, Hooch and Sprout. She knew that the remaining teachers were _on their side_ too, they just didn’t want to get directly involved in the war because they were too afraid. Her eyes skimmed over the empty Headmasters chair and her brow furrowed. Snape had been missing more meals lately and she’d taken note that he was starting to look thinner. In the case of today though, it was very possible that he was just assisting the Carrows at the boathouse.

 _Serves him right, fucking dick_ , Ginny thought bitterly as she thought back to the incident that occurred with Susan two days ago. She ducked her head once more and continued to eat. She was glad to give the professors a break from his presence so they could eat their meal in peace. It wasn’t like Snape came to the Great Hall to eat anyway. He never _ate_ when he attended the meals – his presence seemed to be solely for the purpose of observing, instilling fear and looming ominously over the students.

Ginny smirked at her oatmeal as she thought about the bat of the dungeons being pummeled by cloaks and rocks as the Carrows inevitably caused more damage than help. She fought back a smile. It was the small simple things in life that gave her joy now.

Less than a minute later owls screeched overhead and Ginny fought the urge to roll her eyes. Mail had become a sick joke at Hogwarts – the only _real_ mail that came anymore was for the Slytherins. The rest of the ‘ _mail’_ delivered included: a single copy of the Prophet dropped on each house table so that the students could see the horrors of what was happening in the world, and letters to unsuspecting students to inform them that their family members had either mysteriously gone missing, were being trialed for treason, or had flat out died.

Regardless of what the letter _said_ – it meant that relatives were dead.

Ginny’s eyes tracked the flock of feathers that poured in. She fought back the urge to frown when a brown owl dropped a letter on the plate of a small Ravenclaw boy and she silently prayed that the person next to the kid would help him hold it together. The worst possible thing that one could do during mail time was react – but at least the Carrows weren’t here, so today _was_ a better day to find out that your family died.

It wasn’t lost on her that the opinion was morbid, but it was the truth.

Her eyes swept across the room once more, taking in each table until her eyes slid over the small Hufflepuff girl Beatrice she’d saved from _detention_. She was sitting close next to Susan and was finally eating some food. She fought the urge to smile – then her eyes went wide, and she felt her blood go cold as her heart stuttered painfully in her chest.

Susan was holding a small piece of paper tightly in her hands.

They were shaking.

There was an open envelope next to her plate.

_Oh Merlin please no – please no._

Her eyes were hard, her jaw was clenched, her back was stiff and then she immediately pushed up from the table and beelined out of the Great Hall with the paper still clutched firmly in her left hand.

_Fuck!_

Ginny hauled herself from her seat, dropping her spoon to the table with a clang as she fought against the urge to run, and walked as quickly as she could from the Great Hall.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!_

She knew what had happened – she had been dreading this moment since the term began. She’d always known that Susan’s parents were at risk of being killed and in the back of her mind she’d always known that this was going to happen. It had only been a question of when. Susan knew it too – but _receiving_ the news was entirely different than _knowing_ about it. Panic rose in her chest as she walked through the doorway, then rapidly cast a silencing spell on her feet so she could run down the hallway to the right where she’d seen Susan head.

Going anywhere in the castle alone was a mistake – it was an invitation for attack and even though they did not speak or interact with each other in the halls they _always_ travelled in groups.

 _ALWAYS_.

She couldn’t believe that Susan would be so irresponsible and run out on her own. Ginny fought back the urge to be angry with her because she knew that she was hurting. She knew that Susan was more vulnerable given the incident that she’d had two days ago – the Carrows had hit her with a round of _cruciatus_ before McGonagall stepped in and Snape got involved. To say that things had gotten tense would be an understatement. Susan was still in physical pain, she was emotionally compromised and not thinking clearly – this was literally the worst day that this could have happened. She knew that Susan was probably desperate to be alone so that she could scream and cry and try to come to terms with the fact that she was now the last member of her family but what she was doing was threatening her safety.

Dread filled Ginny’s heart as she ran faster than she’d ever moved in her life. She could see Susan turning the corners just ahead of her, she was running blindly as she tried to escape her agony and she was taking turns at random. Ginny fought back the urge to call out to her for fear of drawing attention from unwanted or dangerous eyes and instead clenched her jaw tightly and pushed her legs faster as she silently chased after her. She barely noticed where they were running until she recognized a statue to the left and she felt her heart plummet into her stomach.

 _No!_ Ginny screamed internally as she wordlessly cast a disillusionment charm on herself as she ran. _No, no, no!_

Susan whipped quickly around the next corner, she was only thirty feet ahead of her now and Ginny could see that her hand was wiping across her eyes as she ran. Enough was enough – they were dangerously close to the Headmaster’s office, Susan _had_ to stop running. Ginny opened her mouth to yell as she skidded to a stop at the corner and froze. Her body reacted instinctively, she threw herself against the wall on her right, drawing her wand from her robes and watching in horror as Susan collided with the tall black looming figure that had just turned the corner ahead.

A wave of nausea hit her as the sound of their collision echoed down the hallway twenty feet before her. Susan grunted in pain as the man stumbled momentarily while she crumpled into his chest from the force of the impact. He’d not heard her coming. They regularly travelled with muffling spells and Susan had cast one instinctively before she’d fled the Great Hall. He’d had no reason to suspect that anyone would be walking around this part of the castle at this time – no one ever left breakfast early for fear of the Carrows, so he must not know about the boathouse either.

Or he was headed down there now.

Ginny felt sick as she watched. He must have cast a rapid sticking charm because his feet held steady on the ground and he quickly righted himself. His face twisted angrily in surprise, then his eyes widened a fraction with recognition as he looked down to see who had collided with him. It was the most emotion that Ginny had ever seen the man display, and she felt her body grow cold with fear as he glared down at Susan.

Snape.

Looked.

Livid.

Susan’s hands had reflexively shot out when she’d run into him, her fingers had tangled into the front of his robes to prevent herself from falling and Ginny saw her tear stained eyes go wide as she looked up into the two black pools of rage above her. Her body went entirely stiff, Ginny could see that her hands were trembling, but her fingers seemed incapable of letting go of the fabric that she clutched – the letter in her left hand now crumpled between them.

Ginny couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t think.

She was rarely caught off guard anymore, but she’d not been prepared for this. She knew that she didn’t stand a chance against this heartless man. The hand holding her wand was shaking and she didn’t know what to do as she stared at her girlfriend and felt her chest tighten.

They were dead.

After what happened with Susan and the Carrows and the explosion that McGonagall had made they were fucking dead.

She knew that she needed to stun him, attack him – literally anything and yet she was frozen in terror at the scene before her because deep down she knew that she didn’t stand a chance in hell at attacking him. She wouldn’t leave Susan alone in this – but that just meant that they were both fucked. She’d seen him get hit with spells throughout the school year and nothing ever happened. It was like he was impervious and her arrogant boldness of attacking him outright had faded since Christmas as things had grown more dangerous. Now they only ever used calculated, well planned and strategic attacks around the castle.

Susan looked stricken with terror. Snape’s lips had twisted into an angry sneer, he’d opened his mouth to speak but then froze when his eyes took in the sight of the paper that was crumpled against his chest. His body seemed to stiffen, his eyes darted back to the tears that were running down Susan’s face and for a brief second Ginny thought that something in his gaze shifted. Then suddenly, time seemed to slow down and Ginny’s eyes went wide with disbelieving shock.

Susan’s eye twitched.

Her body became impossibly still as her back straightened.

Her legs steadied beneath her.

Her eyes narrowed into slits and her face twisted with hatred and blind rage. Her grip on his robes tightened, her hands knotting into the fabric and crinkling the letter further as a snarl left her mouth. She dropped the hold she had on him with her right hand, rapidly pulled back her arm and punched him in the face.

Susan had officially snapped, and Ginny thought that her heart was going to give out.

The crack split across the hallway, ringing against the walls as blood flew from his face and coated her knuckles. His head had snapped to the side from the force of her hit and she saw him take a step back to steady himself against the blow as Susan stepped forward and followed through on the punch. Ginny felt her legs grow weak, her body grow numb and her mind short-circuit as a heavy silencing charm that she _did not cast_ surrounded the hallway.

Then Susan started to scream.

 _“FUCK YOU_!” Susan screamed at him as her grip on him tightened further and she drew back her right hand to hit him for a second time.

Panic flooded Ginny’s body and it forced her muscles to move despite her fear. She raised her hand and aimed her wand at his face, preparing herself to attack as he turned his head back around to face Susan and his injuries came into view. Snape’s nose was blatantly broken, blood was dripping down his face, but when his head had fully rotated into sight Ginny froze – the spell she was about to utter lost on the tip of her tongue.

His angry expression was completely gone. His face was blank, but his eyes were filled with a heavy sadness that she never would have thought him capable of possessing – and he didn’t move when Susan hit him for a second time directly in the chest. Ginny felt her arm go limp as her face twisted with confusion. Snape may be a wizard, and wizards may not typically fight physically – but Susan was tiny in comparison to him. He could have rendered her unconscious without even twitching a fucking muscle – but he didn’t. He just stood there as she hit him.

A cold shiver ran down her spine as she stood there dumbfounded.

He was _letting_ her hit him.

“YOU _FUCKING_ MONSTER!” Susan screamed as she hit him hard in the chest three more consecutive times. Each time her fist collided with him it made a hollow thumping noise until Ginny saw Snape’s face flinch with pain at the sound of a second dull crack. He finally reacted, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist as he took a step back from her and spoke.

“Susan – calm down,” his voice was tight, and she saw something that looked like impatience flash across his eyes before they quickly darted around the hallway as if checking to ensure that they were alone. But Susan simply dropped her hold on him and started hitting him with her left hand.

“ _Fucking Merlin_ ,” Snape grunted in pain when her second jab hit his diaphragm. He quickly snatched her left wrist from the air and wordlessly vanished the blood from his face as he held both of her arms tightly in front of her.

“YOU FUCKING HAD THEM KILLED!” Susan screamed as she lunged toward him while trying to rip her hands from his grasp. Fresh tears began to pour down her face and her voice broke. Her body started to shake, her legs began to tremble, her hits became weaker as exhaustion set in while Snape stood there calmly holding her arms as she struggled until she began to sob and gasp for air between her words. “I hate you – I hate you – I hate you–“

A loud agonizing cry poured from Susan’s lungs as her legs shook so badly they gave out beneath her. Ginny stood immobile, wand still raised as Snape let out a deep heavy sigh and he adjusted his hold on her to keep her from crumpling into a pile on the floor as she completely fell apart. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes were dark, and his shoulders looked tense and heavy like he was carrying the weight of the world.

Ginny didn’t breathe as Snape moved Susan two feet to the left and easily sat her on the edge of a low windowsill while she sobbed uncontrollably. He hesitated a second before he stepped in front of her and then gently grabbed her chin, forcing her head up so their eyes met.

“ _Obliviate_ ,” he muttered the word so quietly Ginny almost didn’t hear it from twenty feet away. She saw Susan’s eyes go glossy, her shoulders sagged a fraction and then a blank look came over her face. Snape dropped his hold on her chin and stepped back. He wordlessly vanished the blood that had trickled down the front of his robes, along with the blood that stained Susan’s hands before he tapped his nose and it snapped back into place with a small crack.

Then, to her horror, the silencing spell disappeared and he turned and started walking towards her.

Ginny felt a new wave of panic wash over her body as she tried to comprehend what the fuck she’d just witnessed. If he got any closer to her, he would notice her – disillusionment charm or not he would know that she was there and then what would happen? Would he change her memories too? The only reason why he didn’t know she was there already was because Susan had caught him completely off guard.

She didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

She didn’t know why he’d done what he’d done, or what the fuck she was supposed to do with the information – but she knew that she did not want to forget it. She knew that she needed to find a way to tell Harry and Hermione – and only them. Ginny quickly and silently slipped around the corner. She cast a second heavy muffling spell on her feet and sprinted ten feet down the hall before rapidly turning around, removing her disillusionment and muffling charms and then sprinting nosily up the hallway toward the corner once more.

“Susan!” she purposely yelled out before skidding around the familiar corner for a second time and coming face to face with Snape.

He was standing five feet from the corner, clearly he’d heard her approach and slowed down to avoid a second collision. Ginny could hear footsteps coming down the corridor behind her, someone else was headed this way and Susan was now slowly pulling herself up from the windowsill behind him. She looked a little dazed, but her eyes were beginning clear and when her gaze moved to Snape her eyes narrowed at the sight of him. She clearly had no memory of their encounter – but seeing him was making the rage leak out once more.

“Susan!” Ginny said quickly, and Susan’s eyes snapped immediately to her as her hands balled into fists at her sides.

“Miss Weasley,” Snape’s voice was low and dangerous, as he looked at her and started to walk once more. “You and Miss Bones should be in the Great Hall for breakfast – not running around the castle undoubtedly scheming.”

“Severus!” McGonagall’s concerned voice sounded from down the hall and Ginny heard her footsteps quicken.

“Detention,” Snape said coldly as he made to step around her. “Starting tomorrow with Hagrid for the next week. But if I find another swamp in this hallway – you’ll be meeting with the Carrows and serving detention with them.”

“Yes sir,” Ginny said reflexively, but her voice sounded weaker than it normally would. It sounded nervous. It sounded unsure. It sounded – suspicious. She saw Snape freeze mid-step at the odd tone of her voice and he turned to look at her again as McGonagall grew closer. Panic shot through her body as she realized that he might suspect something, so she forced her face into a smirk before his eyes landed on her face and she spat out the first words that came into her head. “No more _swamps_ – I’ll make a note of that _specifically_.”

His eyes narrowed at her, but McGonagall was all but running down the hall now and she knew he was boxed in.

“Congratulations Miss Weasley,” Snape’s voice was ice as he turned on his heal and began walking away. “Your detention has just been extended to two weeks and you’ll be scrubbing cauldrons for Slughorn over the weekend.”

Ginny watched him leave, his voice ringing down the hallway as his robes billowed out behind him.

(To be continued…)

-x-x-

Hey friends!

So AO3 is not the best place for chatting – so I made a discord account and a group! In case you missed the link last week, here is a new one: https://discord.gg/sp5ETG

I also started a small writing challenge just for fun! Basically, write a short scene (3.5k words or less) with the randomly selected things and see what happens :D

Details are here: https://discord.gg/jCQ4bH

I hope you are all safe <3


	50. Chapter Fifty (ft. Ron)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Who’s ready for some character growth? Me, me, me – I am! Today we spend a little time with Ron, then on to Hermione and Harry. I’m sorry that the plot didn’t progress very much.  
> 2\. I did not get this chapter nearly as far as I wanted to because sometimes… that just happens. Writing Ron is challenging for me and it tends to throw me into a funk – but his section was important in this chapter to his arc in the overall story so it was just one of those things I decided to grit my teeth and bear through it. After writing his section my brain wasn’t working the way that I wanted it to, and I struggled all day. I promise the next chapter will be better.  
> 3\. Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.  
> WARNINGS:  
> \- Implied rape (no details and not even specifically mentioned)  
> \- Sad repercussions and fallout of the werewolf rescues  
> \- Hermione is struggling  
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

**Dear RogueofTimeyWimeyStuff and ybriKnoswaD, thank you for assisting me when my brain simply could not. Selecting OC names is one of the things I hate most, so I greatly appreciate your contributions and help :)**

**P.S. I told some people Snape would be featured here but he has been bumped to next chapter, you have my most sincere apologies - I misjudged what I could get done in here.**

Ron watched them disappear from sight through the kitchen window before he heard the familiar pop of apparition as he filled two tall glasses with water. Then he set a three minute timer in his head and quickly made his way back over to the two slumped and exhausted forms in the chairs by the table. He needed to get whatever Lupin required for Fleur and he wanted to get the kitchen table disinfected before they returned.

When he’d heard the apparition pop signaling the group’s return to the cottage just after 8 am, he’d felt relief flood his body. While he and Dean had been kept in the dark regarding the specific details of the mission, they both knew that the group had set off early this morning to go complete something immensely dangerous. Bill and his father had tried to downplay the significance of it but he knew them well enough to see the tension in their bodies and hear the stress that laced their voices when he’d asked questions about the mission. They’d told him it was confidential and refused to say anything else. The only thing he knew was that it had involved werewolves and some sort of den – but he had no idea where they’d gone or what they’d done. He’d had no idea how long it would take or what risks were involved. So, when gut wrenching screams split the air his blood had run cold. He’d raced down the staircase from his room and out the front door faster than he’d ever moved in his life.

But he hadn’t been prepared for what he saw when he wrenched the door open. He hadn’t been prepared to see his father burnt, bloodied, covered in mud and dirt with a bone sticking out of his left leg. He’d hadn’t been prepared to see a mostly naked women with vomit dripping from her chin tucked under Harry’s arm like she weighed nothing while blood poured from a gaping wound on her shoulder – or Lupin gasping for air as blood leaked from deep holes in his chest. And he’d certainly not been prepared to see Hermione physically carrying his dad inside the cottage and dropping him on the table like a sack of potatoes.

His natural first instinct had been to panic.

It had flooded him like a tidal wave as his mind immediately began spinning while dread filled his heart and he realized that this mission had _clearly_ been even _more_ dangerous than he’d anticipated. It had obviously been fucking deadly. His mind was consumed with fear as he tried to understand what was going on and what might have happened. He’d tried to ask them – he’d needed to know, to understand, but the both of them had given him nothing and pushed past him like he wasn’t even there. Their expressions had been stone – and so incredibly cold and detached.

His brain couldn’t process it, he’d almost lost it entirely as he watched Hermione hovering around his father like his wound was nothing more than a sprained ankle – sticking her fingers _inside_ the gash, saying he was _infected_ and holding down his screaming form like she didn’t give a shit. Like it was _easy _for her – like she didn’t care in the least. She didn’t even bat a bloody eye while his cries cut through the air like daggers and blood trickled from his mouth.

Her chilling cold gaze flicked around the room robotically as she worked away completely unphased by the agony that his dad had been in. It had made him angry – it had made him sick and he was fucking terrified. It wasn’t until she’d screamed at him in rage and he’d caught sight of the tiniest glimpse of something _desperate_ and _pure_ flickering in her eyes that his panic finally faded. His anger was snuffed out and his body grew cold as a bizarre wave of understanding washed over him in an instant.

Bill’s words echoed in the back of his head as he stared at her wide-eyed, _finally_ taking in her full form and _truly_ looking at her. She was dirty, ragged, covered in blood that wasn’t her own, soot smeared her face, hair and clothes, and mud clung to her – she smelled of fire and death. Her eyes were burning, her left arm was shaking as she fought to control it and his father’s blood stained her hands and face.

‘ _Try to understand what they must have gone through. Something happened to them… something that made them realize that they will die, Ron, just like the rest of us if they don’t keep up – if they don’t grow up and become more than what they were’_

The memory of her scar peeking out from the collar of her sweater popped into his head and then it clicked.

It hit him hard and cold in the chest as her blazing eyes glared at him. She was looking at him like he was a complete and utter waste of space – like he was single handedly the most useless thing in the room to her and she didn’t have time for him because – because she _cared_.

She cared _a lot_.

It was so painfully obvious in that moment that he’d felt it like a dagger in his chest.

She and Harry both cared more than he could have ever anticipated, more than he’d ever realized – more than he’d allowed himself to believe because he’d spent the last week convinced that they didn’t truly care at all. He’d been confident that they were detached and cold and he’d remained angry about their relationship even though he didn’t say anything about it because it was painful to watch.

They moved like a single entity, two separate beings with unique abilities yet perfectly synched. It hurt to watch. It hurt to see it while they trained even if it was incredible, because admitting that they were perfect together made him sick to his stomach. They’d become so utterly combined and yet distinctly different. It hurt to see them look at everything around them with disinterest and detachment – and to only show any shred of emotion when they looked at each other. It hurt to be on the receiving end of their disgust, and it was just easier to assume that they didn’t care about anything else around them.

He’d assumed that they’d become selfishly involved and only cared about themselves. That they viewed themselves as better than everyone else around them. Initially he’d thought they were being friendly with Bill because they met with him to talk about _secret_ stuff but then he saw them interact and he quickly realized that they were cold to him too. 

They were cold to everyone. 

So, he’d assumed that they only _tolerated_ Luna and Bill and Fleur and his dad because they were people who held some sort of _value_ – that they could be _used._ He’d assumed that training was for that purpose – to make the rest of the Order members not ‘ _entirely useless’_ since that seemed to be how they viewed everyone else. He didn’t think that they gave a shit about the Order or the people in it. He’d heard Harry’s words to his mother last Wednesday night, but it hardly seemed legitimate for Harry to claim that he cared about their safety given how they chose to talk to and interact with the Order.

Besides, he wasn’t stupid – he’d figured out what Harry had done to him after watching their training and going for a walk around the property. That bastard had tethered him to the cottage. He could feel the ties tugging against various parts of his body in different directions if he got too close to the wards. He knew that if he were to apparate away it would likely mean his death. He thought that was a pretty clear indication of how they viewed those around them and how little they cared for other human life aside from their own.

He’d only participated in the training because Bill’s words had made him realize that he needed to try harder. That if he wanted to be more than what he was then he had to work for it – so he decided to ignore the duo as best as he could and participate in training so that he could better himself. He _wanted_ to be stronger. He had decided to stop blaming others for his shortcomings and he’d decided to improve his skills. But he’d also decided to stop caring about Harry and Hermione and to view them for what they were – cold, heartless, detached powerhouses who wanted nothing to do with the people in the cottage but were forced to tolerate them.

How else could he view the people who had essentially signed his death note without telling him he would die if he tried to leave the cottage?

But then he’d begun to second guess things once more when he’d seen Hermione hugging his father outside through the window on Friday night. It had felt odd and uncomfortable to watch and it went against his assumption that they didn’t care. So, he convinced himself that she must have been manipulating his dad in some way or using him and he ignored it and buried it down.

But today – watching the two of them moving rapidly – desperately – like every second mattered while they tried to save three lives, including one that they did not even _know_ , he realized that he’d once again been wrong.

Entirely wrong.

Yes, they were calm. Yes, they were detached and yes, they were cold and harsh – but it _wasn’t_ _heartless_ like he’d thought it was. This entire time he’d interpreted their cold harsh words as an indication of their lack of compassion and complete detachment from anything aside from themselves – but he couldn’t have been more wrong. It was the farthest fucking thing from heartless he’d ever seen – and he’d felt simultaneously dumbstruck and mind blown at the realization.

What he’d seen as a coldhearted bitch who didn’t give a shit and used the people around her the others understood was actually a girl who cared more than words could describe and was desperately doing what she _had_ to do because she’d already been through this. She’d already been through more than the rest of them and she understood what was coming. It was _exactly_ as Harry had said to his mother, but he’d chosen to scoff at the words because he didn’t believe them. Because it was easier to think of them as being coldhearted detached assholes than to admit that maybe they were hurting just as badly as everyone else, but they just hid it better. And that maybe, in truth, they were more detached towards _him_ because he’d betrayed them – because he’d let them down in such a fundamental way, they simply could not trust him.

He knew deep down that if they had wanted him dead, and if they were truly coldhearted and detached, they’d have killed him already.

He’d just been ignoring that fact because it was too painful, and while he’d understood his brother’s lecture regarding his failure to put in effort, he’d entirely misunderstood the part about what Harry and Hermione had done. Bill wasn’t just talking about their physical strength or their abilities as magical beings – he had been talking about their ability to do what was necessary. Their ability to detach themselves from their feelings so that they could do what they _needed_ to do even though it was painful. That was what Bill had meant by them _growing_ up and becoming more.

He just hadn’t fully understood Bill’s words until today when his father was bleeding out on the table before his eyes while Hermione stood calm, cool, collected – covered in blood and doing what she had to do so she could save his life. He’d felt his chest tighten as he’d looked at her in that moment and finally _saw_ her.

It was so painfully obvious he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t seen it before. He couldn’t believe that he’d been so blind, so ignorant and so fucking childish – she was in **_agony_**. In every sense of the word his ex-best friend was fucking dying inside, and she was just as bloody terrified as he was.

She just buried it.

She buried it all down so deep it had left her cold and distant and robotic – nothing left but what was absolutely _needed_ in the moment. And if not for that brief moment of rage that cracked her defenses, he never would have seen the true emotion that so clearly wracked her body under the cold and indifferent surface.

Her mouth had opened, and he knew what was coming. He knew that she was going to stun him, or kill him, or whatever was required to remove him from the room because he was in the way. He was a nuisance. He was the fucking embodiment of what she was burying deep down in her heart.

He was everything unnecessary that she constantly blocked out in physical form and there was no room for him in this war.

And then he’d felt something within him twist painfully. It hurt – it fucking hurt worse than being wrapped in that bubble of death last week but he felt like he finally got it. _He_ was the problem. He’d always known it and it was the root of his insecurities but yet for some reason he never truly did anything about it. Even this past week when he thought that he’d accepted his shortcomings he hadn’t _truly_ taken full responsibility – he’d not fully understood just how short his shortcomings had been. How much he’d been limiting himself and standing in his own way just like Bill had said – he was his own bloody worst enemy. And his failure with the shield charm was a perfect reflection of that.

He’d not realized what he represented to the duo, just how useless he was, just how helpless he was. Just how unbearably dense he was for not understanding what must have happened to them for them to become like this.

His dad was fucking bleeding out before his eyes and he’d not even offered to help them yet – he’d just been standing there with his hands in his hair getting in the way like a bumbling fool while she desperately tried to remain calm and save his life – all while keeping tabs on Harry, Lupin, the girl and battling her internal emotions. It struck him in that moment that _she_ had asked _him_ for help – which meant that she was truly desperate, and things were even worse than he could comprehend.

Then a switch flicked in his head and his body moved into action.

He refused to be a failure _AGAIN_. He refused to be responsible for the death of his father because he was either too scared, too stupid or too useless to help.

So, he helped.

He bit it all down and he forced his mind to focus. He knew he wasn’t anywhere near as calm and collected as they were, but he did everything that he could. He asked what to do and he did what she and Harry told him to without question because he knew that they were his dad’s only chance at survival. He fought back his fear and anxiety – he stopped his mind from interpreting their cold and harsh directions as being a personal attack and instead understood the situation for what it was – a bloody emergency.

When he saw Hermione struggle to open the container because her arm was too weak, he didn’t hesitate to step in and help. It was the least he could do given the fact that her body was practically falling apart on her and yet she refused to relent and had continued to care for his dad with skills that he didn’t even know she possessed.

Then, once she’d woken his dad, he’d watched her interact with him – _truly_ watched. He saw all the minute facial movements he’d missed before. He saw the way her pupils dilated when she inspected his healed wound. The way her eyes creased ever so slightly and her voice dropped to a lower tone in concern when she held him steady while his face crumpled in pain and distress. He _listened_ to the words that she used when she spoke to him, the gentle way that she touched him and moved around him and he once again realized that he’d been entirely, completely and whole heartedly – fucking wrong.

Hermione cared.

Harry cared.

They cared so much it made his heart hurt and his stomach twist.

They cared so much it made him want to get a time turner so he could go back in time and punch himself in the face for being so bloody blind.

He let out a deep sigh as he passed the water glasses to Lupin and Ava and cast a second warming charm over their bodies.

He was done.

It shouldn’t have come down to this. He shouldn’t have had to see his father dying before his eyes and screaming in agony to get what everyone else around him seemed to intuitively understand. He was done feeling sorry for himself. Done with blaming everyone else, done with thinking Harry and Hermione were assholes who didn’t care and done with being bitter. It was blatantly obvious that the two of them belonged together and that he had no leg to stand on to justify his anger – except to say that he was livid and frustrated with himself.

In some ways, now that he could see everything clearly for the first time in probably his entire life – he’d gotten off lucky.

They could have killed him. Maybe they even should have. His family had torn into him about his behaviour sure, but they’d still treated him like a human being. They’d welcomed him home, protected him and taken care of him despite his resentful nature and unjust anger.

He was done with being unnecessary and it was time to make a change.

“Does Fleur need anything?” Ron asked as he quickly began disinfecting the table with a spell his mum had taught him years ago. He wasn’t very good at using it, but he didn’t care, he would do anything and everything that he could.

“More calming draught, some food and more dittany,” Lupin said hoarsely as he took a slow sip of the water.

Ron nodded and started to collect the potions that Lupin had requested.

“So – are you a witch too?” Ava asked him, her eyes watching his movements as he placed the items Lupin had asked for on the table. Her voice was quiet and rough, she held the glass of water before her but had yet to take a sip.

“Not exactly,” Ron said and a small smile tugged at his lips. “I’m a _wizard_ – we call female magical people witches and male magical people wizards.”

“Oh,” she took a tentative sip of her water before her eyes shifted back to Lupin and she eyed him strangely. “So, you – you’re a _wizard_ too and – and a _werewolf_?”

“Yes,” Lupin said quietly but he didn’t turn to look at her as he continued to send messages through the tag on his arm.

Ava watched him a moment longer before turning back to Ron. “How long has it been?”

“One minute and forty-five seconds,” Ron placed the last of the potions on the table and then went to gather some dried foods from the cupboard. “They still have time left.”

Ava frowned and her jaw tensed. It was clear that she was uncomfortable and what she truly wanted was to be at home with her son.

“What if something happens?” her eyes were filling with worry. “What if they don’t come back? What if something goes wrong – how do you know that they will bring him here safely?”

“Because they said they would,” Lupin said quietly, and his eyes finally shifted to Ava. “Harry and Hermione will come back with your son – you saw what they’re capable of.”

Ava swallowed hard and her eyes flicked between them as Ron continued to pile food onto the table. Her hand was drumming on the glass she held, and her body was growing tense.

“How much longer?” she whispered when only another few seconds had passed.

“Fifty-two seconds,” Ron said as he removed the last of the mud from the floor but watched the small woman from the corner of his eye.

“I never should have run out – I could have waited ‘til morning, but I was supposed to work at nine this morning and I didn’t think I’d have time,” the words were falling from her lips as she shook her head and stared at the cottage door.

“It’s going to be okay,” Ron said firmly as he made his way over to the table and took a seat across from them. “They’re coming back and they’ll have Charlie.”

Ava frowned again, her jaw clenching tight as her eyes bore a hole in the door.

“So, are there a lot of you?” she asked after another few seconds of silence had passed. She seemed incapable of staying silent and she was tapping the glass in her hand nervously again.

“There’s a decent amount,” Ron said quietly. “Are you cold or hungry?”

“No,” Ava shook her head and her eyes darted back to him. She looked scared, more scared now than she’d been while Harry was healing her. It was clear that she valued her son higher than herself. “Are you _sure_ they will bring him back?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Ron said quietly, his eyes dropping down to the small amount of blood that still stained the table. He could feel Lupin’s eyes flick to him at the comment. The older man knew that there was tension in the group. Hell, the whole bloody Order knew that the trio had fallen apart and that he was not on friendly or even speaking terms with Harry and Hermione, so his words had probably come as a bit of a surprise to Lupin.

“They – they’re sort of terrifying,” Ava’s voice came out as a whisper and Ron’s eyes flicked back to hers.

She was talking about Hermione and Harry – both he and Lupin knew that. He saw Lupin’s face soften and a small smile tugged at the corner of Ron’s lips. He snorted and shook his head as an odd bittersweet feeling filled his body.

“They’re _brilliant_ ,” he said quietly – a second before a loud pop rang out from outside and his internal timer went off.

-x-x-

They landed almost silently in an alley near the Quarters, the rain and thunder of the raging storm easily covering the small remaining sound of their apparition. They moved quickly, their movements invisible to anyone who might be looking out the window and perfectly in sync with one another as Hermione led them toward their intended target. She wasn’t joking about only needing three minutes – this was outside of the scope of their plan and they could not afford to spend any time here, but she also could not knowingly leave the woman’s son home alone. She was glad that no one in the cottage even dared to challenge her on completing the extraction because it wasn’t up for discussion.

Despite the tremble in her legs, the shake of her arm and the exhaustion in her body she felt confident. Empty – but confident. Nothing would go wrong here, and the extraction would be perfect because she simply would not tolerate anything less than that.

After what happened this morning, she had no threads of patience left and she would obliterate anything that stood in her way. Besides – there was no reason to believe that anything _would_ go wrong. Arlo’s men had been grabbing people _outside_ in the dark and from the sounds of it, Ava must have slipped out in the middle of the night for something at the corner store down the street. She’d gotten unlucky, been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hermione knew it was unlikely to be a trap because the bonded pairs had not been hunting down victims in their homes.

They darted across the street, easily vanishing the splashes that they made through the water as they moved and ran their way along the sidewalk past the row houses until they reached #6. Hermione moved up to the door, quickly casting a detection spell and confirming that there was only one human inside the residence while Harry cast a silencing bubble around them and a detection spell outside the house which turned up nothing out of the ordinary. It was quiet, people were either already at work or were inside because of the storm.

“It’s clear,” Harry’s low voice sounded to her right.

“Inside is clear,” Hermione responded.

So, without another second of hesitation Hermione unlocked the door and they carefully slipped inside. She shut the door behind them and locked it as Harry cast a silencing charm on the entire home. The last thing that they needed was for the kid to start screaming and drawing in attention. She’d not asked the woman how old the kid was but from the detection spell she’d cast she knew he was under three – he’d registered only as a small blip. She cancelled her disillusionment at the same time Harry did, then made her way up the stairs to where she knew the small child was as Harry trailed along behind her.

“You get the kid,” Harry said quietly knowing that the silencing charm around them would keep Charlie unaware of their approach. “I’ll grab a bag and pack some stuff for them quickly since I’m not sure when or if we’ll be able to come back here.”

“Good plan,” Hermione nodded as she moved towards what looked to be the smaller bedroom of the two at the top of the stairs. “We’ve got one minute, and fifty-two seconds left – if anything happens return directly to the cottage.”

Harry nodded once and darted into the main bedroom. Hermione carefully opened the door to the smaller bedroom and froze at the entrance when two large, bright brown eyes looked up towards her at the sound of the opening door. They were tear stained and red, the kid couldn’t have been older than a year and a half. He was sitting up in his crib, snot dribbled from his nose and he looked distressed. Though he seemed oddly quiet as if he was so distraught, he couldn’t even make himself cry outwardly.

“Hi Charlie,” Hermione said softly as she forced herself to smile and moved carefully across the room. She silently vanished the blood from her hands and cursed herself inwardly for not taking a moment to remove the grime from her body. She surely looked horrifying right now, but then again magic could only do so much. What she really needed was for someone to wash her off with a firehose. “Do you want to go see mummy?”

The boy looked at her, his body tense but unmoving, his eyes wide but not quite fearful. Even though his apprehension was blatantly obvious in some ways he seemed happy to just see another human. She didn’t know anything about him or his routine, it was possible that he’d been awake for hours and crying for his mother. In fact, it was likely – otherwise she suspected that he’d have freaked out by now.

Hermione carefully reached into the crib and lifted him up, he leaned away from her, but he seemed too confused and exhausted to do anything but stare at her. So, she carefully sat him on her hip and grabbed the small blanket from his crib. Harry moved swiftly into the room a second later, rapidly summoning clothes, diapers and other random objects from around the room and directing them into a bag slung over his shoulder. Clearly he’d grabbed it from Ava’s room and had extended it to hold as many belongings as possible. Thankfully the kid didn’t scream at his sudden appearance, but his eyes went wide again, and his body went stiff at the sight of the tall dark haired stranger. Though he seemed pretty enraptured at the sight of items flying through the air of his room.

“Did you get anything from downstairs?” Hermione asked as she wrapped the blanket around the small child. He seemed not to care about anything but watching the stuff in his room disappear into the bag.

“Yeah, a few things,” Harry said over his shoulder as he swept the entire contents from the top of a dresser into the bag. “You ready? Thirty seconds.”

“Yeah – I’m going to stun him though, otherwise he’s going to get sick from the apparition,” Hermione muttered before she carefully stunned the tiny child. He immediately went limp in her arms and collapsed against her chest. She quickly cast a diagnostic charm on him to make sure that he was okay and let out a tense breath when his vitals all read strong. She hated the idea of using magic on muggles, especially children, unless if it was to save their lives – but she knew that apparition would likely make him violently ill. And she seriously doubted that Ava would handle seeing that well – it would only cause them more problems and possibly break her trust in them. She grimaced as she looked at his tiny unconscious form.

“He’ll be okay – it’s safer this way,” Harry said gently as he moved towards her.

“I know,” Hermione sighed and gave him a tight smile. “Are you ready?”

“Ready.”

“Okay – come here,” she reached out to Harry as he stepped toward her and pulled him close. She fought back the urge she had to cry as his strong arms circled around her and he gently grabbed the back of her bare neck. Charlie was pressed tightly against her chest between them, her right arm wrapped firmly around his small body while she made sure to hold his bare hand tightly. She tried not to think about how it felt to hold a child between the two of them as she gripped the back of Harry’s filthy jacket and let out a deep breath. It was a foreign and bizarrely domestic feeling, one that she wasn’t sure they’d ever experience again but she had no time to think on it – they still had one more stop after this one and then the rest of the war after that. “Okay, I’m ready.”

She felt Harry nod against the side of her face before the familiar tug pulled behind her navel and Harry apparated them back to Shell Cottage.

She landed firmly on her feet, carefully stepping away from Harry and checking over Charlie again to make sure he was still in one piece. His diagnostics still read strong, so she cancelled the charm and followed Harry toward the cottage door. She woke the kid just before they crossed the threshold. His eyes shot wide as he came to, he took in the sight of her with terror and opened his mouth to start screaming when a familiar voice cut through the air and he froze.

“ _Charlie_!” Ava called to him as Hermione walked into the kitchen. “Charlie! Oh my god – Charlie are you okay?! Mummy’s here!”

“Mummy!” relief flooded his small face and tears began to pour from his eyes as he turned and reached for Ava who was fighting against her tether to get to him.

“Charlie!” Ava was crying now. The tears were pouring from her eyes as exhaustion and relief set across her face when Hermione carefully placed her son in her arms. “Oh my god – oh my god – I thought I’d never see you again. I’m so sorry – I’m so sorry Charlie, mummy would never leave you. I promise you I’ll never leave again. I’m so sorry, love.”

She held him to her chest tightly, rocking him back and forth as she murmured into his ear and promised him everything was okay. Hermione felt her jaw clench as emotions ached painfully through her body and a sickening coil twisted in the pit of her stomach. She frowned and ripped her eyes away, quickly turning her back to the emotional display – she couldn’t stomach it.

It hurt too much.

It was too raw, too honest – too open, and it was unbearable. It threatened to break her, and she couldn’t afford to crack now. So, she moved toward the table and started collecting the items that Ron had obviously gathered into her purse.

“Is this all that Fleur asked for?” her voice was low and detached as she rapidly loaded the items inside her bag.

“Yes,” Remus said hoarsely. She could tell that he was watching her. She _knew_ that he was concerned, and she knew that he’d seen her reaction as her face twitched into a frown. “Hermione are –“

“Good,” she cut him off and turned back to look at Harry. Harry’s face looked tight like he was straining against something and his eyes were watching her face closely. “We’ll go to the safe house to help Fleur with the other rescues – I’ll send Luna back and she can help Ava get cleaned up. Nothing was out of the ordinary at their house – I didn’t expect anything given how Arlo was taking people, but we should still be careful and avoid going anywhere near it if possible. Harry grabbed some of their belongings in that bag – so they should be set for at least a little while, but we will need to figure out what to do going forward and Ava might need to call her work and make up a lie as to why she wasn’t there today. Harry can you untether Remus and change Ava’s tether so it gives her length to walk around the main floor?”

“Done,” Harry said without so much as moving a finger. He dropped the bag of Ava’s belongings to the table and moved to help Remus up from his chair. “Take some calming draught to relax your muscles but don’t go anywhere – stay here with Ron and Ava, we’ll send word through Andromeda to Tonks that you’re okay.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Remus nodded as he carefully stretched his shoulder and grimaced in pain.

“Ron get them something to eat and help Luna with whatever she needs when she gets here,” Hermione turned to look at the redhead who was standing on the opposite side of the table. He’d stood up the second they’d entered the cottage and she’d noted that he’d had an odd smile on his face at the time. Though now he was looking at her with an expression that could only be described as sad. Her eyes narrowed at him a fraction as he nodded at her instructions before she looked back to Harry – Ron was being incredibly odd and _un-Ron_ today, but she didn’t have time to think on it. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded and turned to head back outside. Hermione moved to follow him but was stopped by the sound of Ava’s voice.

“Wait!” Ava’s hoarse voice echoed. Hermione turned and looked back at the woman. Tear tracks stained the dirt on her face, she was clutching her son with her only remaining hand, but she’d thrust out her stump toward Hermione when she’d yelled. “Y-You’re coming back right?”

Hermione faltered, her brow furrowing in confusion as she stared at the woman. She’d sort of assumed that Ava feared the two of them most out of the wizards that she’d met thus far, and she’d not thought that the woman would care about them returning now that she had her son. That was part of the reason why she planned to send Luna back to help her – because Luna was softer, she was more compassionate and could _help_ the woman emotionally in a way that Hermione simply could not.

The other reason why she wanted Luna to return to the cottage was because Hermione knew that she couldn’t handle being around that woman and her child right now – she was barely holding herself together and she still had ten other people who needed her help. She had seven minds to infiltrate and obliviate because she was now the _only_ one left in the Order capable of doing it properly without leaving a time gap. She’d gone from being the backup plan to the _only_ plan now that Nasir was dead. She and Harry had to return each of those seven muggles safely to their homes because it needed to be done today and they were better suited to complete stealth drops than Fleur or Luna were, and Remus was out of commission for the day while Andromeda would need to get back to Tonks who was due to pop any moment now.

Then she had three muggles who had been werewolves that needed an explanation and might want to die. They were new transformation yes – but based on the data that Nasir had given them before the attack there was a possibility that the ‘new transformations’ had already eaten someone or been out on a trial run patrol and attacked another muggle. There was a possibility that they may not want to live with those memories even if she offered to remove them – and with Nasir gone, she and Harry were the only ones left willing to grant them that mercy.

She might be killing people today, and if not today she might have to tell three people that they were going to die painfully over the course of the next few months

Then she had to somehow hold it together and complete the debrief tonight – they needed to discuss the mission, the repercussions, the fallout – she needed to tell Arthur that he was a werewolf and that his first transformation this upcoming weekend would be painful, wild and dangerous because it was already too late to start the wolfsbane potion.

And then… she wanted to plant a cross next to Dobby’s grave to signify the death of a man that no one would remember. A man that most people didn’t even know existed – and who was feared by the ones that did. A man who had given her more in one single week than she’d ever gotten in the entirety of her life previous. A man who had given her the strength and ability and skills required to be able to save the people she’d saved today.

So, no – she did not have it in her to sit with that woman and support her emotionally. She didn’t care if she was coming off as cold and detached. She didn’t care if she was worrying people or if they were concerned about her reaction or lack thereof. The only person whose opinion mattered was Harry – and she knew that he _understood_. She couldn’t deal with this woman _and_ fight to contain the emotions that threatened to consume her from the inside out _while_ doing everything else that she still needed to do.

Agony filled her heart once more as she stared at the woman and forced her voice to remain calm as she spoke. “Yes – we’ll be back soon.”

Ava licked her lips nervously and nodded, her eyes moving rapidly between Hermione and Harry. “Thank you – for getting my son.”

Hermione nodded once.

“It was nothing,” she said quietly before turning on her heel and moving outside with Harry.

They didn’t bother with disillusionment charms and instead apparated immediately to the safe house per the coordinates that Arthur had given them. Harry held her hand so tightly it hurt, but she didn’t let go, and she squeezed him right back as she swallowed the tightness that ached in her chest. She forced herself to focus on her rune once more as they made their way toward the small farmhouse in unspoken unified pain.

-x-x-

The farmhouse wasn’t anything to write home about, it was small, cozy and remote – which was all that really mattered. Though if Hermione was being honest, she quite liked it. She liked that there was nothing significant about it. It blended in completely with the rural surroundings and even without the protective wards and spells it would be unlikely that anyone would ever approach the property. It was just so obviously plain it was entirely inconspicuous. It was completely safe.

There was a large red barn out back divided into two sections – one containing a group of seven unconscious muggles and the other containing the bodies of three unconscious werewolves. Each section was reinforced, heavily warded, silenced and secured to ensure that no one inside could leave without being part of the approved list on the wards Shacklebolt had created. It was specially designed to contain werewolves and included a small door to an outdoor fenced paddock so that they could roam somewhat free once transformed. Ideally it would be unrequired because with wolfsbane potion in effect the werewolves would simply curl up and sleep indoors until the full moon was over – but given that it was too late to take the set of weekly potions now they’d anticipated needing to give them additional space for the first transformation after their rescue. So, they’d designed the barn with that in mind and very carefully constructed safety mechanisms around the pen to ensure that no one could get out and no one could get in unless it was approved.

By the time Hermione and Harry got there Luna, Andromeda and Fleur had cleaned everyone up, clothed them and healed the majority of their wounds all while keeping them unconscious. They’d run out of dittany for some of the werewolves as they had to wait for their bodies to return to their human form but otherwise things were well under control. Within five minutes of getting there Harry sent Andromeda home with an update on Remus and Hermione debriefed Luna and sent her back to Shell Cottage to help Ava. Luna had been more than happy to help and had placed a calm and gentle hand on Hermione’s shoulder before leaving.

Which left them alone with Fleur.

Which Hermione was grateful for because she needed a break from being surrounded by people. They worked in silence for twenty minutes, carefully healing the final injuries that the three muggle werewolves had sustained from their transformation and checking the diagnostics of each of the rescues. Hermione silently thanked Fleur for being the single most understanding person that she’d ever met outside of Harry and internally vowed to tell her that someday. The woman was incredibly good at reading situations and had seemed to instantly know that Hermione and Harry were both very tense and did not want to talk. So, she remained quiet and assisted them with the healing _without_ giving them empathetic looks or eyeing them with concern. She trusted them on a fundamental level, she _believed_ in them and she seemed to understand that they knew what they were doing and that they were doing what was required to get through this.

It wasn’t until Hermione spoke first that she finally asked for an update – and even then, she didn’t push for anything because she knew it would be covered in the debrief at the end of the day. When they confirmed that Remus and Arthur had been injured, she simply nodded solemnly, her jaw clenched tight, but her eyes calm and trusting when they told her that everyone was okay. It took them half an hour to get everyone completely fixed up before they started to assess and process the non-infected muggles.

They woke each one up individually and had them drink a small portion of calming draught to make the questioning and return home easier. They asked them their name, where they were from, what their address was and if they lived with anyone else. If they did live with someone, they asked who and where those people would be on a Monday morning. They asked if their home would be empty right now, and if they had a job or if they were supposed to be anywhere at the moment.

Some were completely compliant and gave as much information as possible while others cried profusely and begged for them to spare their lives. Two refused to answer, either out of fear or defiance Hermione wasn’t sure but either way that was quickly resolved. And one conversation left Hermione so enraged that her nails cut deep into the palms of her hands and a piece of her wished that the den was still alive so that she could find the bastard that assaulted the girl and pull his intestines out through his nose. She would have torn him apart piece by piece if he were still alive and her only solace was knowing that the girl would not remember the events of what happened, she hadn’t been infected, she hadn’t gotten pregnant and she would be able to return to her normal life.

Fleur took careful notes on each conversation while they questioned the rescues so that they could check back in on them later to ensure that their return to the muggle world had been successful. By 2 pm all seven muggles had been obliviated back to their appropriate timeline and successfully returned home. At which point Fleur forced them to break for ten minutes to drink some water and eat a small lunch before she allowed them to move on to the muggle werewolves in the next room. Hermione had picked at her lunch, barely eating half of her sandwich and downing her water quickly as she read the latest message from Arthur and did her best to ignore the tremors that wracked her body from exhaustion.

She’d had no appetite and frankly neither did Fleur or Harry after dealing with the seven muggles. Yet her distaste ran deeper – because she’d seen it.

She’d been the one to peek into their minds to locate the last appropriate memory and obliviate the events that came after. _Obliviation_ wasn’t full blown _legilimency_ but she’d seen enough to entirely lose her taste for food. She’d excused herself to go use the washroom that Arthur had retrofitted in the barn after working with the girl who’d been assaulted, and she gotten physically sick. She’d had nothing in her stomach to throw up at the time so she’d simply dry-heaved for thirty seconds under a silencing charm until she managed to get control of herself once more and went back to interviewing the remaining muggles.

Yet working with the three werewolves was much, much more difficult. They were confused – rightfully so, and they were scared. They instinctively did not trust them, they struggled to accept what was happening to them, two of them had thrown up after waking up, and Hermione had had to hold their mouths open while Fleur poured in the calming draught. All of them had to be tethered because they’d tried to flee and one of them landed a punch on Harry’s face immediately upon waking up.

Liza, a twelve year old girl, seemed to be the most accepting of the situation. She didn’t trust them, but she’d drank the calming draught that Fleur gave her after briefly trying to flee and realizing that she couldn’t get anywhere. She seemed to like Fleur the best and was mesmerized by her appearance. She told Fleur everything that happened and even accepted a small sandwich.

She’d been transformed the day before, had never left the den and had not been bonded yet. Based on the very minor lingering damage to her body post transformation she had the most promising future and the possibility of a somewhat normal life. Though they needed to look into her family situation to determine if her parents were still alive – Liza’s memories were foggy around her capture and it was very likely that Arlo’s men had stunned her and taken her parents too.

Colin was the second werewolf. He was a middle aged man with grey hair who’d been transformed two days prior. He’d been bonded to a wizard and taken out on a single trial run but had fortunately not attacked anyone or eaten anything. He’d thrown up and tried to flee, he’d fought against the potion and he’d begged to see his wife and kid. It wasn’t until the calming draught kicked in and he saw Fleur that he finally started to speak coherently and give them more information. He worked in management at a muggle store, he had an eight year old daughter and a wife. He’d been coming home late from the theater with his family and had stopped on the side of a quiet road because he’d gotten a flat tire. He didn’t remember anything after that so they took down his full name and address so they could look into the status of his family like Liza’s.

But Hermione already knew that they’d either been killed at the roadside, or they’d died in the fire at the den as werewolves. It was incredibly unlikely that they’d gotten away from the initial abduction when he hadn’t.

Then there was Ariel, a businesswoman in her early thirties. She’d thrown up immediately after waking. She’d tried to run, she’d screamed, she’d kicked, she’d clawed and she’d been the one who’d punched Harry in the face. Her body had extensive lingering damage and she was in severe pain from the deterioration. She’d been a werewolf for two months already and her bones hadn’t properly shifted back into their human form. Hermione had only been able to give her muggle pain medication to take the edge off. She’d considered trying to transfigure things back to their correct shape, but without a medical textbook nearby she was hesitant to do it – and frankly she wasn’t even sure if it would work.

Ariel had been in the cell because her previous paired wizard had been killed during a scuffle amongst the ranks and she’d needed a new ‘ _owner_ ’ but Arlo had yet to re-bond her given her _age_ and he’d been debating just throwing her into the pits unbonded as food. From what Ariel could recall, and from what Hermione was able to make out between her sobs and screams and distorted memories she’d bitten at least three people while on patrol. She’d eaten at least two muggles who’d had unsuccessful transformations after being ordered to do so and she’d consumed anywhere from two to three sick werewolves during her time in the pit.

She was the only one to ask for death.

They’d given dreamless sleeping draught to each of them, enough to knock them out solid until noon the following day to buy themselves time to figure out how to proceed. They needed to look into their family situations. They needed to figure out what kind of a life they could give these people and then discuss it with them. But most pressingly, they needed to get back to Shell Cottage because it was already 4:30 pm and the debrief would be starting in half an hour.

So even though Ariel had sobbed and grabbed Hermione’s hand, asking her to kill her and begging her to make the pain stop – Hermione had postponed it, and granted the woman a peaceful sleep instead.

She wanted to see if there was a way to fix the woman’s bones before she ended her life. She wanted to see if the woman responded better to the situation after the memories of eating people had been removed from her head – she just didn’t have enough time to do it all right now and she didn’t want to sign Ariel’s death note until she was confident that the woman wanted it. Until all reasonable options had been exhausted.

But as Hermione watched Harry tether the three sleeping muggle werewolves to their temporary cots, she felt her heart harden and her body grow cold. She made a silent promise to grant Ariel her wish if she could not find a way to give her a life that she wanted.

(To be continued…)

-x-x-

Hey friends!

So AO3 is not the best for chatting – so I made a discord account and a group! In case you missed the link last week here is a new one: https://discord.gg/AD7NGV

I also started a small writing challenge just for fun! Basically, write a short scene with randomly selected things and see what happens :D

Details are here: https://discord.gg/VTF5YW

Also – PERSONAL ANNOUNCEMENT!

I finished a final edit and compilation of my seven short romantic stories and got my first ‘ _book’_ done! It was so much work! It’s 323 pages, AHH! Let’s be real guys… it’s smut. But! Nonetheless I am incredibly tickled pink with it and I even got a fancy cover :) woot woot!

I hope you are all safe <3 know that you are loved.


	51. Chapter Fifty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Today we ride with Hermione and Harry <3 Apologies for being a bit late on this one  
> 2\. Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.  
> WARNINGS:  
> \- Emotional meltdown
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

**Aani, thank you for keeping me sane this week ;) you are simply put – the best human**

By the time they’d finished packing up at the safe house, setting the alarms, rechecking the wards and placing monitoring charms on the three sleeping muggles it was 4:57 pm before they landed back on the rainy beach of Shell Cottage. The brunt of the storm had long since passed but the sky remained dark, dull and gloomy, and a slow cold drizzle continued to fall from the sky and flood the already waterlogged ground. They made their way silently across the sand, jaws clenched tight with stress since none of them had any energy left for conversation when it felt like they were carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders – the burden of their findings weighed heavy like stone in their minds.

Hermione felt spent.

She simply had nothing left to give because it felt like everything that she had had been completely stripped away from her over the last 12 hours.

The adrenaline that had kept her body moving was long since gone. The anger that had given her motivation to keep pushing through the conversations with the muggles had simmered down to low burning embers in the hollow of her chest, and the numbness that had encased her body and allowed her to detach and do what she had to do had grown cold. She felt dead on her feet and with each step toward the cottage her calm demeanor and mind threatened to break.

Her boots were waterlogged, her hair was muddy and matted, her clothes were entirely soaked through, her legs trembled with exhaustion as she walked, her arm shook at a steady vibration that would slosh tea from a cup if she dared try to hold one and she knew that she was still covered in a filthy layer of grime and blood – yet she just could not bring herself to care. She couldn’t even bring herself to think on her appearance. Despite the wet from the rain the smell of death and fire still clung to her and it served as a persistent reminder of what they’d been through; of what she’d lost – and it left her feeling empty yet vulnerable.

And she hated it.

Fleur had asked them prior to leaving the safe house if they wanted to delay the debrief to get cleaned up – but they’d both declined. The debrief would be unbearable whether she was cleaned up or not and frankly she just wanted to get it over and done with.

Harry held her hand tightly as they approached the cottage door, he’d not let go of it once the apparition was completed and for that she was thankful. By this point – it felt like it was the only thing left keeping her on her feet. It was the only thing keeping her fragile mind sane as she felt the tremendous exhaustion from the day weigh heavy on her emotional defenses. She needed to get this debrief over with so she could be alone with Harry. She needed this hellhole of a day to end so that she could finally mourn in private and let out the turmoil that threatened to break her into pieces she wasn’t sure could be repaired.

When they entered the cottage, she heard a large collection of voices go silent and she realized that the three of them were the last to arrive. Fleur moved quickly into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Bill as Hermione froze on spot when six sets of eyes locked to her and Harry. It was a lot of people – and they all looked _emotional_.

 _Great_ , she thought nervously as she fought to remain calm.

She swallowed hard as her eyes shifted over Arthur, Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Remus, Shacklebolt, and Bill. All of them had cleaned up and were wearing fresh clothes. She and Harry were the only two left in the same outfit from that morning, the only two left covered in mud and stained with blood. She felt her jaw clench as she took in their pained expressions and she felt her stomach twist as she met Arthur’s exhausted and sad gaze. She knew she and Harry looked like hell – but now she realized they probably looked even worse than that.

Before anyone could even say anything, a strangled sob broke from Mrs. Weasley’s mouth and she rushed towards them.

“Molly!” Arthur’s voice broke out as he tried to stop his wife. His pain medication had worn off and he grimaced as he stepped forward and reached out to grab her – his fingers just grazed the fabric of her sleeve, but he wasn’t able to move quick enough to stop her.

Hermione felt a wave of panic wash over her at the woman’s rushed approach and she instinctively stepped back several feet with Harry. Her arm twitched violently, her grip on Harry’s hand tightened like death and she felt her chest constrict as Harry’s hand jerked in hers. Their outright reaction must have looked worse than she thought it did because she found herself surprised when Mrs. Weasley came to an abrupt stop several feet before them. Her face was pinched in pain, her eyes were wide and darting between them as she took in the sight of their tense bodies and blatantly obvious discomfort. Her mouth opened and trembled, then her head started to shake, and tears began falling down her face.

“I – I’m sorry,” she swallowed hard and clutched the front of her robes tightly. Her urge to close the space between them was obvious as she fought to keep herself in place and shuffled on her feet. Hermione could see the turmoil in her eyes as she looked between them in agony while relief flooded Arthur’s face when her movements stopped. “Arthur said not to crowd you, he said that it made you uncomfortable but I – I didn’t realize how much – I –“

“It’s fine,” Harry said somewhat tightly as he tried to give the woman a small smile, though it looked much more like a grimace.

“No – no it’s not fine,” Mrs. Weasley started to shake her head again as she clenched her jaw. “Nothing about this is fine – nothing about _any_ of this is fine. You _saved_ his life – _again_ and I still didn’t consider how you two feel – I didn’t realize how hard this truly was for you, but I – I promise you that I will do better to give you the space that you need.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said quietly and that only made Mrs. Weasley’s face crumple more.

“Please don’t thank me Hermione, never – not for this – I’ll never be able to thank you for what you did,” Mrs. Weasley’s voice dropped to a whisper as she fought to control her emotions and struggled to get her words out. “I want you both to know that I’m grateful. That I’ll never be able to thank you – that you – I can’t – I can’t lose him and you – Ron told me how you fixed his leg and without you two – he wouldn’t be here.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” Hermione shook her head gently and swallowed hard as some of the tension in her shoulders lessened.

“It was everything,” Mrs. Weasley said quietly before her eyes darted over their dirty forms once more. “We can delay a little bit if you two want to–“

“No,” Hermione shook her head firmly and glanced toward Harry. “I’d like to get this finished.”

“Alright,” Mrs. Weasley breathed out a low ragged breath and seemed to finally gain some composure. She hesitated a moment longer, her eyes flicking between them before she finally, and to Hermione’s relief, stepped away. “Well, let’s get started.”

Hermione and Harry moved to the table, following behind Mrs. Weasley and taking two of the three empty seats at the end near the door. They were the same seats that they always took but as Hermione sat down her eyes shifted to the left and she felt her heart ache painfully in her chest at the sight of Nasir’s empty chair. A part of her wished that someone would have thought to remove the seat from the table so she didn’t have to look at it – but then again, that felt worse because it would have been like trying to erase him completely. She felt her jaw clench tighter as she stared at it and she unconsciously began to tighten her grip on Harry’s hand.

 _It hurts_ , she thought painfully as her stress levels grew. It didn’t help that she could still feel everyone’s heartbeat in her head, and she knew they were all incredibly tense. She forced herself to take in a low quiet deep breath and tear her eyes away from the empty chair. They landed on Ron. He was looking at her with that same odd sad expression that he’d had earlier and her eyes naturally narrowed.

“Why are _you_ here?” Hermione’s voice rang out cold and she realized that she’d cut off the voices that had been talking around the table. She hadn’t heard them; she hadn’t been paying attention while she’d been staring at Nasir’s seat. She felt seven pairs of eyes latch to her as she glared at Ron.

“Well,” Ron said slowly, his voice remained even and cautious despite her harsh gaze. “It’s not like I can go anywhere. So, I figured I might as well try to be helpful. I’m going to assist Luna and Fleur with Ava and Charlie – and Bill with any fallout cleanup that can be done from here.”

Hermione stared at him for a long moment, she was too exhausted to comprehend why Ron had given them a small smile when he mentioned not being able to go anywhere. Clearly, he’d figured out that he was tethered to the cottage – but his reaction was not at all what she’d expected. She did not like the idea of Ron becoming involved again, but she also could not deny that the Order needed extra hands. So long as he remained at Shell Cottage, he posed little risk – besides, the details on the werewolf den and the muggles were inconsequential compared to the information that he already had in his head. So she clenched her jaw and bit back her anger.

“Fine,” she shifted her eyes to Arthur. “Sorry for interrupting – where did you want to start?”

“That’s okay,” Arthur gave her a small smile while Shacklebolt looked at her with an odd expression. “We’re starting with a recap of everything that happened since we left the cottage.”

The recap was exhausting but necessary. Everyone detailed the precise actions that they completed since leaving the cottage that morning. They specified who they’d spoken to and interacted with and identified any potential concerns that they had for loose ends. Thankfully, there weren’t many. Mrs. Weasley and Fleur had made a point of being extremely visible in the morning as Bill had said. They’d interacted with several key Death Eaters and Voldemort supporters within the Ministry and had not run into any issues. Being visible had proven to be easy because the office was spinning with gossip and people were mulling around and talking about the latest death, and while an official statement had yet to be released – Arthur had confirmed that it was Peter.

Peter the apothecary owner.

The man that she and Harry had stolen from and the man who had been smuggling supplies to the Order despite the risks. They didn’t know all the details yet – but apparently, they were gruesome. Gruesome enough that Arthur and Shacklebolt were now concerned about getting future supplies since most of the remaining apothecaries were already under Voldemort’s control and the ones that weren’t would be unwilling to risk involvement after hearing about Peter’s murder. Shacklebolt had sent Thomas, the man who assisted with disposing of the werewolf bodies, to one of Peter’s underground storage houses to clean out the supplies that remained – it was a decent haul but it would only last so long.

Arthur seemed to want to skip over the details of Peter’s death as quickly as possible and he only allowed Shacklebolt to confirm that Peter had been murdered and strung up to the front of his apothecary early that morning. He then changed the topic and pushed the debrief forward.

They all agreed it was incredibly unlikely that Voldemort would suspect that the Order had obliterated the den on the same day that Peter was murdered – and they doubted that Voldemort would think that the Order was capable of obliterating the den at all. They were a nuisance to him, like a fly on a horse’s back but he had never considered them as an actual threat.

So they agreed that it was incredibly unlikely that anyone would be brought in for questioning given that both Fleur and Mrs. Weasley had spoken _directly_ with Yaxley that morning – but just in case, Arthur and Bill planned to temporarily extract their memories of the infiltration from their minds before going into work the next morning. It was a slightly risky affair since neither one of them were particularly talented with memory work – but Moody had taught them both how to do it well enough that they would be able to pass a veritaserum test. It wouldn’t stand up to a full blown _legilimency_ interrogation but it was better than nothing, and if they weren’t approached tomorrow for questioning then it was highly unlikely that they would be questioned in the future.

Though despite this everyone agreed to start implementing regular occlumency drills into their training – which they all agreed would continue every night until the war was over. They would meet at the cottage at 7 pm to practice dueling and learn whatever spells Hermione and Harry deemed required. It was a unanimous decision and the conviction in the eyes of the Order members around the table made a shiver run down her spine as she realized that they were all _finally_ taking this _very_ seriously.

When Arthur and Remus recounted the events that unfolded inside the den most of the faces around the table went white, Ron looked sick and Mrs. Weasley gripped the table so tightly Hermione was sure that it would leave permanent marks. Yet hearing about the atrocities committed and the conditions of the den only made Hermione feel colder – she’d already known and fully understood the details based on Nasir’s shared findings and she’d briefly been in the den. Between her experience in the pit and seeing the memories of the muggles before she obliviated them, hearing about it now felt like just another regular part of her day.

What was hard, was listening to Arthur recount Nasir’s actions in a voice laced with heavy regret and sadness.

Nasir had murdered Arlo with his dagger, he’d saved Ava by cutting off her arm, he’d saved Arthur by temporarily mending his leg, and he’d downed strength potion and all but carried Arthur out of the den. He’d _stayed_ and he’d kept them _all_ alive after threatening to leave them behind when they’d refused to leave. Arthur had asked her if she knew who Nazira was – she didn’t – but it seemed to be someone important to him and Arlo seemed to be his motivation for assisting with the den infiltration.

Yet even that did not make sense to her. Based on what Arthur had described and based on her own training experience with the man – if his only desire was to murder Arlo for revenge then he could have done it at any point during his reconnaissance missions. He easily could have killed the man and made it look like an accident or made him disappear and then slipped safely out of the den. He hadn’t needed to work with the Order, there was no reason for him to put himself in danger and participate in a full blown den infiltration if he’d only wanted revenge. He hadn’t needed to die, and she knew that there must have been some other reason or Nasir would have simply killed Arlo and left weeks ago.

She refrained from stating that during the debrief but she felt Harry’s hand twitch against hers and she knew that he was thinking the same thing.

As Arthur spoke about Nasir she felt a lump form at the back of her throat and it became harder to control the wave of emotion within her. She knew that he was glancing to her out of concern, but she kept her eyes fixated on the porcelain mug before her, eyeing the now cold coffee as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. She couldn’t handle seeing the devastation in everyone’s eyes – the same eyes that had looked at the man like he was a monster only days ago. They’d all feared him, disliked him, distrusted him – and now they all felt guilty and were mourning him like he was a hero.

But he wasn’t.

He was just Nasir. A mysterious and complicated man with a complicated past and probably a laundry list of terrible deeds hidden up his sleeves. His _actions_ in the den had been heroic yes but he wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t a _good_ man – but she was okay with that. She’d accepted him for who he was in his entirety and she’d come to adore him, trust him, need him. She hated the idea of them warping their memories of him and twisting him into something that he wasn’t because they felt guilty and ultimately – they _still_ could not accept him for who he was.

It was like their minds could not rationalize him being ‘ _Nasir’_ and him being capable of doing ‘ _the right thing’_ or acting like a ‘ _hero’_.

They should have feared him – they were right to fear him. He was a terrifying man, but they should have _respected_ him. They should have _accepted_ him for what he was and learned to be okay with it. They’d misjudged him yes, but what they were doing now was still misjudging him and it just highlighted the fact that they would continue to struggle to do what needs to be done in this war. They’d _started_ to take things seriously yes, but they still struggled to understand that there was no clear line between _good_ and _evil_ , and that there was an entire landscape of grey in between where intent mattered.

It was exactly why they _all_ still struggled to accept Harry and her, their decisions and what they’d become – because she and Harry floated in the grey and it made them nervous. They wanted everything to be clear cut and perfect – they wanted this to be good versus evil like how Dumbledore had sold it to them years ago – but it wasn’t, and it never would be. Which meant that people like Nasir – people like her and Harry would never fit in when this war was over.

She felt her empty stomach twist painfully as her mind wandered and yet she couldn’t bring herself to eat any of the food that Fleur had set out on the table. She let Harry recount their events when it was their turn and she sat there silently at his side as her body grew cold. She let Fleur summarize the findings and follow-ups required with the muggles, and she didn’t speak until the debrief was almost over and the topic of Ariel’s death came up – another grey area that would undoubtedly cause trouble again.

“Ariel asked to die,” Fleur said solemnly, her fingers gripping the mug before her tightly.

“A-And did you,” Arthur turned to look at Hermione, his eyes wary. Shacklebolt seemed to tense at the table, knowing full well that this topic was a point of contention between the group based on the last time it came up. “Did you – did you do it?”

“I didn’t kill her today,” Hermione said quietly. She could hear the exhaustion in her voice as she finally pried her eyes away from the table and glanced up to Arthur. She felt six sets of eyes glance her way once more and she knew that Mrs. Weasley was clutching the neck of her robes tightly. “I want to try removing the memories she has of eating muggles from her mind first – and fixing her bones. However, even with that she was in werewolf form for at least two months. The damage done by the stasis charm is irreversible and extensive. She likely only has another two months to live – maybe four at best but that would be a painful stretch. She didn’t respond as well as the others did to the dittany either so it’s unlikely that healing her between the changes going forward will yield good results. Tomorrow I’ll complete the _obliviation_ and repair what I can of her body – if she still wants to die after that, then I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

“Hermione,” Arthur said quietly, and she could see the strain in his eyes. “You don’t need to be the one who–“

“Well with Nasir gone I just assumed that no one else would volunteer,” Hermione said flatly, a hint of bitterness to her voice as her eyes danced around the table at the tight expressions of the other Order members – but everyone else remained silent as the air seemed to grow heavy. It was the first time that she’d said his name during the debrief and the first time she’d made any outward acknowledgement of his death. The dull ache that had been beating in her chest since the moment he died began to beat harder as his name slipped through her lips. She turned back to Arthur and raised a brow as if to prove her point, but her voice waivered on her next words despite her best efforts to remain calm. “Besides I wouldn’t wish that responsibility on anyone else here – but it doesn’t matter right now anyways. We’ll wait and see what _she_ wants tomorrow. What we need to talk about right now is–“

Her voice caught in her throat at the look of guilt and agony that crossed Arthur’s face. She knew that he blamed himself for Nasir’s death and she knew he probably thought she was angry with him about it. She faltered a moment as she cleared her throat and felt a tightness form across her chest. She didn’t mean to hurt Arthur’s feelings with her words, but it seemed like she had anyways because her control over her emotions was slipping – and that just made everything hurt more.

 _Keep it together – we’re almost done the debrief_.

“We need to determine how to handle the remaining ones,” Hermione cleared her throat again and felt Harry’s grip on her hand tighten as her left arm began to tremble more viciously.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered as he turned toward her, but she ignored him and pushed forward.

“We need to figure out what kind of life we can give them and confirm the status of their families – and Arthur I still need to speak with you about your wound,” she felt her chest constrict further and suddenly it was getting harder to breath.

She could feel everyone watching her closely, the air was tense like they were expecting her to react or lose it completely and yet she couldn’t stop, she _wouldn’t_ stop – there was still so much left to do. She had to remain calm because she had to tell Arthur about his infection, and she needed to help him plan how to manage it. They needed to plan the future of five muggles, they needed to close the loop so no missing persons cases were opened by the police, she needed to confirm her potion supplies and restock, she needed to tend to the bruise on Harry’s face and she needed to research how to alter bones for Ariel. There were a million things left to do.

She felt a panic building in her chest as fatigue consumed her and she forced herself to push forward. “And we need to figure out what to do with Charlie, and Ava–“

“Hermione – Harry?” Ava’s broken voice was so quiet Hermione almost didn’t hear it, but it rendered her speechless and made her spine stiffen as her heart began to thud more rapidly in her chest.

 _No not this woman, I cannot deal with this woman right now!_ She heard footsteps behind her and she barely managed to turn and look over her shoulder before a stumped arm was wrapped around the upper half of her body and she felt something warm press up against her spine.

“You guys came back,” Ava’s voice echoed near her ear and Hermione went rigid as the air left her lungs. She felt Harry tense beside her while the rest of the room fell eerily silent.

“Hermione – I’m so sorry – they needed to use the restroom, we were just going to slip by,” Luna’s voice echoed behind her somewhere and she heard more footsteps move towards them.

“It’s fine,” Hermione said tightly, her voice cracking slightly. Ava quickly pulled away and Hermione looked up at the woman. She’d clearly showered, she looked clean and fresh and _normal_ – like how she would have looked before this nightmare started. Her eyes were shining brightly with unshed tears, she was wearing some of Hermione’s old clothes – the ones that Hermione had given to Luna to bring back to Shell Cottage for her. Her long dark brown hair hung past her shoulders, her son was fixed to her hip and even he looked well rested and much better than this morning.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Ava said a little sheepishly, a blush crept across her face as she took in the silence and eyed the room nervously. “Luna told me more about you and Harry – and I just – I wanted to thank you again and I wanted to say that I’m so glad that you’re back. And that I’m sorry if I seemed ungrateful this morning at all – I was just a bit overwhelmed with everything. But I know that I’m only here because of what you did, because of what your friend did, and I’ll never be able to repay that debt. You two saved my life and saved my son – you’re giving me the chance to keep living and I don’t know how to thank you.”

 _No stop – stop, stop, stop_! Hermione felt her eyes start to sting as her throat grew tighter. She felt like a massive Jenga tower built on top of a single brick and Ava’s emotional display was threatening to kick the base block out from under her. What was worse than the woman though was her son and seeing them so happily together – they looked so normal it hurt. Charlie was looking at her without fear this time and his eyes were tracing over her curiously.

“Remember Hermione, Charlie? This is the girl who saved you – say thank you,” Ava said softly as she looked at her son with tear filled eyes.

 _Oh Merlin please don’t_.

“Thank you,” Charlie’s small voice and shy smile tore through Hermione’s heart as he reached out and touched her dirty forehead.

Hermione felt something break deep inside her and the weight of her rune grew unbearable like an elephant had just sat across her chest. Pain radiated out through her body so violently even her teeth hurt.

“I can’t be here,” Hermione’s whispered words were barely audible as Charlie withdrew his tiny hand from her forehead and continued to smile at her. She felt like she’d swallowed shards of glass and her vision was starting to blur as her repressed emotions from the day flooded her. Her eyes darted away from Ava and she cleared her throat roughly before raising her voice to the people in the room as she fought to keep her face composed for another few seconds. “I’m sorry – please excuse me for a minute, you can continue without me.”

Without a word and without daring to look at anything else in the cottage Hermione dropped Harry’s hand and pushed away from the table. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see – she could hear the echo of voices behind her, but she couldn’t make out the words because she felt like her head was under water. She made her way to the door as quickly and as calmly as she could. Ripping it open, she made sure that her shaking legs carried her into the safety of the darkness and out of view before she took off at a run. The wind ripped at her hair as the cold rain stung her face. Everything hurt and she couldn’t keep it in anymore as the weight of day crushed her like a blade of grass, but she refused to break within the vicinity of the cottage – she couldn’t stomach the idea of anyone in there seeing her collapse.

“Hermione!”

It was Harry, she could hear his voice echoing behind her and yet the sound only made her legs move quicker as she full on sprinted and dread filled her heart. She felt like she was dying as pain and sadness flooded her mind.

 _All those people,_ her eyes stung as she raced blindly forward. All those people had died today – and how many of them had she killed? Dozens? She knew it had to be done but that didn’t make it hurt any less. It didn’t make it any easier to bear.

And how many families were ruined from what Arlo had done? How would they ever be able to compete with Voldemort and the Death Eaters when they were willing to go to such horrible lengths? How could they win when even now that group in the kitchen was still fundamentally unwilling to grant a mercy killing and clearly struggled to walk in the grey?

How could that woman be so kind and so grateful after what she’d lost? Her life was ruined, and she’d probably never see her family again and yet she’d thanked her! Thanked her when she didn’t deserve it because deep down a small and twisted part of Hermione was angry that she was alive – if not for Ava, Remus wouldn’t have nearly lost a lung, Arthur wouldn’t be a werewolf and Nasir wouldn’t be dead.

Nasir _died_ because of her, because he’d stayed back for her instead of dragging everyone out – he could have, she knew he could have. He easily could have stunned Remus and Arthur and dragged them from the den and yet he’d decided not to, and she didn’t understand why. A sick guilt twisted in her stomach as she fought the urge to vomit. She knew it was just an emotional response and grief over her loss – she didn’t truly blame Ava – but knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

She’d just lost her mentor.

She’d just lost a _friend_.

Nasir had wiggled his strange, emotionally detached and creepy self into her heart, he _belonged_ in their group – but she hadn’t been strong enough to save him. If someone like him could die so easily then how in Merlin’s name could she ever even hope to protect Harry when he inevitably fought Voldemort? What chance did she stand?

For one brief week she’d truly, _wholeheartedly_ believed that they had a chance. She’d thought that she’d had a real shot at becoming what she needed to be in order to protect him – and now it felt like that hope had just slipped through her fingers and she felt like her heart was breaking.

She loved Harry more than anything in this world. She’d let herself get attached to him despite her initial concerns that it would affect their mission and now she couldn’t live without him – and she’d just lost the _only_ person who could have helped her protect him. The _only_ person who could have and _would_ have taught her what she needed to know to be successful.

There were still a million things that she’d wanted to ask Nasir. She’d been planning to talk to him privately once the mission was over so that she could ask him for help – so he could help her become stronger by any means necessary. He’d been their only shot at getting through this war and _her_ only shot at _ensuring_ Harry’s safety – but he was gone, and it was her fault.

“HERMIONE!” the sound of rapidly running feet approached behind her as she stumbled in the sand, but Harry grabbed her arm firmly and stopped her from falling. “Hermione, it’s okay–“

“ _Nothing_ about this is okay!” Hermione screamed at him as she twisted around to see Harry looking at her in concern in the faint light coming from the small cottage. “Harry I didn’t – I didn’t do _anything_ –“

“Hermione it’s not your fault,” Harry said firmly as he tried to grab her by the upper arms, but she pushed away from him and stumbled further back into the darkness.

“ _YES IT IS_!” her voice broke as she screamed and the rain hitting her face started to blend with the tears that she could no longer contain. Looking at Harry and feeling his hands on her body just made everything ache more and she couldn’t handle it. “We could have gone back for him! We _never_ should have allowed Arthur and Remus to go in there with him in the first place! _They weren’t ready_! We _knew_ that they weren’t ready Harry – and now Arthur is a _fucking_ werewolf! Remus almost died and Nasir is dead, Harry! He’s fucking dead and it’s _my_ fault! He was our friend, Harry! Our _friend_ and we _left_ him there to die! We left him behind when this never should have even happened!!”

“Hermione, I _know_ you’re upset – I know you miss him, but you can’t blame yourself,” Harry had closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm once more. His voice had dropped and become more serious as he roughly tugged her closer and refused to let go despite her pulling away. “He _never_ would have let you stay – you _know_ that – even _if_ there was a way that we could have saved him he never would have let us. I _know_ that you cared about him Hermione, I know how much he meant to you but–“

“ _NO, YOU DON’T HARRY_!” Hermione cut him off with an angry scream. Harry stiffened at her words, his body becoming impossibly still as his brow creased and he stared at her hard in the dull light. Her face crumpled as she realized how her words must have sounded to him and fresh tears started to pour down her face as her voice dropped to a broken whisper. “It’s not _just_ about him, Harry – it’s _everything_ , it’s about _all_ of this – it’s _you_. I was going to –“

Her voice caught in her throat as she choked on her words once more.

“I was g-going to ask him to help me – so I could help _you_ ,” she looked up at him through bleary eyes as her body began to shake once more. She saw his expression soften as something painful crossed behind his eyes. “So I could make sure you were safe. How do we stand a chance in this war now that he’s gone? How can I save you if I couldn’t save him? He was my chance, Harry – he would have – if I’d asked him to, he could have made me more – I – _I c-can’t lose you Harry_ –“

Her limbs started to tremble so badly her legs gave out as a sob wracked her body. Strong familiar arms wrapped around her as she dropped to her knees. Harry crumpled to the sand with her as she cried and she gasped for air. He held her tight against his chest, his arms gripping her small body like a vice as she clung to him desperately and fell apart. Neither one of them noticed as a wave of cold water washed up the beach and soaked through their bloodied pants.

“You’re not going to lose me,” Harry’s low voice rumbled gently against her ear as she gripped his ruined jacket and cried against his chest. He smelled of smoke and death like her, but she didn’t care, she just pulled him closer. “I promise.”

-x-x-

Harry clutched Hermione tight to his chest, unwilling to let go of her as she shook and cried in his arms. He didn’t care that they were sitting in several inches of freezing water, he didn’t care that he’d abandoned everyone in the cottage to chase after her, and he didn’t care if anyone from the cottage was looking outside and could see the faint shadow of their crumpled forms on the edge of the beach. The only thing he said when he’d gotten up from the table and followed her out the door was _‘ stay inside!’ _and then he’d cast a rapid silencing charm and sprinted after her.

He’d known that she was struggling all day. He’d known that she was having a hard time dealing with Nasir’s death and what happened to Arthur – not to mention the fact that she’d been the only one capable of properly obliviating the muggles at the safehouse and that undoubtedly took an additional toll on her. If he was being honest, he had no idea how she’d held it together for as long as she did. Even inside the cottage she’d somehow kept her voice even the entire time and her face indifferent as she calmly excused herself and exited the room.

He’d seen the confused look on Shacklebolt’s face – the man didn’t know her well enough to know that she was dying on the inside. But Arthur did – the concern that had flashed across his face when Hermione excused herself had been agonizing. Fleur and Ron seemed to know too whereas Remus, Bill and Mrs. Weasley were somewhere in the middle. They knew something was wrong, but they didn’t understand the extent of it.

He kicked himself for not pushing her to take a moment to breathe after dealing with the muggles, but the reality was Hermione never would have listened. Brilliant as she was the girl was stubborn and determined. He knew her like the back of his hand and he had known that she wanted to get the day done and over with so that she could be _alone_ to deal with everything – but seeing Ava had been more than she could manage. He didn’t doubt that finding out Ava was ultimately the cause of Nasir’s death had hit Hermione hard during the debriefing and made seeing the woman even worse. All the other details about Nasir’s final actions that came to light as Arthur and Remus recounted what happened inside the den before they’d arrived had only agitated her more. He’d felt her hand tighten as they spoke and every time they said that man’s name her hand flinched within his.

He knew that Hermione cared for Nasir and while her relationship with him had always made him uncomfortable and that man’s interest in Hermione had unsettled him from day one – never had he _ever_ been worried about her. Never had he ever not trusted her or thought that she might see the man as anything other than a mentor.

Harry knew that Hermione loved him.

Their relationship was so fundamental and so strong that he’d never once doubted it. So, when she’d pushed away from him only moments ago and screamed at him that he didn’t understand how much Nasir meant to her – he didn’t know what to think. For the first time ever, he’d wondered if he was wrong. He’d wondered if he should’ve been concerned.

He let out a low deep sigh as he rocked her gently back and forth. It was a ridiculous thought – and he berated himself for even allowing his mind to conjure it. He couldn’t believe that for a split second he’d doubted her – it was the first time and the last time; he would never do it again. He pulled her between his legs and half onto his lap as he kissed the top of her head and murmured in her ear while she confessed all the turmoil that had been building inside her through broken sobs.

He should have known.

They’d already talked about this to some degree and she’d said that she wouldn’t become tempted by the knowledge that Nasir might be able to offer them. She’d said that she would only learn what was necessary and nothing more, but he should have known that she’d been planning to ask Nasir to _help_ her. He should have expected this. He should have known that she would do anything to win this war – and to save _him_. She’d already expressed to him how much it terrified her that she might not be able to save him. She’d already _told_ him that she wouldn’t stop and that she’d do anything it took.

This was Birmingham all over again and just like how’d she’d laid out careful notes for him then, trained him and showed him how to use _everything_ in her purse in case she died – she’d been planning to ask Nasir for assistance behind his back. She’d been planning to silently prepare yet again so she could ensure that he came out of this war in one piece even if it meant giving up herself and placing her neck directly under the axe. He felt his eyes burning as he gripped her tighter and her nails dug so deep into the fabric of his jacket, he could feel them cutting into his back.

_Fuck I love her – but she gives too much._

Now she was not only devastated because of everything they’d endured today with the den, the muggles, the injuries, the guilt she felt over being angry with Ava and the agony she felt from the loss of her friend and mentor – she was devastated because she felt like they’d just lost their edge in the war.

And he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel it too.

As uncomfortable as Nasir may have made him feel at times, she wasn’t the only one who had been making plans. She wasn’t the only one who was relying on Nasir to teach them so that they stood a chance. He couldn’t lose her – he _wouldn’t_ lose her, and he was willing to do whatever it took to ensure that. She wasn’t the only one who’d been planning to make a deal.

They sat there for what must have been nearly half an hour until Hermione had finally stopped crying, though she remained curled into his chest and clutching him tightly. His muscles were screaming at him from the cold despite the fact that he’d cast several wordless warming charms, but he didn’t dare move until Hermione shifted first.

“I’m sorry Harry,” her voice was quiet and broken as she whispered into his soaking wet jacket.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he murmured back and kissed her temple. It was such a Hermione thing to say – the girl would carry the weight of the world on her shoulders and still feel like she’d not done enough.

“I shouldn’t have left the debrief – I didn’t meant to –“

“It was basically done Hermione,” Harry said quietly as she leaned away from him to look up at his face. She looked ragged and exhausted and dark circles ringed her eyes. “We’d already discussed everything urgent by that point – everything left can be discussed tomorrow night. We should go set up the tent and get some rest.”

“But what about Arthur and everyone else they –“

“They don’t need anything else from us tonight,” Harry pushed some of the hair sticking to her face to the side and watched the rain drip from the end of her nose. “We have a plan for tomorrow already and that’s all that matters. We can work with Fleur in the morning on the plan for the muggles. This day has been long enough Hermione – I think it’s time we let it end.”

“Alright,” Hermione whispered though he could tell from the look in her eyes that she didn’t like it. He knew she was already berating herself for cracking and leaving the cottage but then her expression softened. “I love you Harry – more than anything.”

Harry felt a small sad smile tug at his lips. “I know – I love you too, Hermione. More than words can describe.”

He kissed her.

He didn’t care that they were both disgusting and drenched from the rain. He didn’t care that his legs had gone numb and his body was aching from exhaustion. He only care about her – he only ever cared about her.

His hand tangled into her soaking wet hair and he pulled her close to his chest once more as she gripped the front of his jacket and opened her mouth to him. The rain washed over their faces and made it hard to breathe but he just pulled her closer and held her tightly until they finally broke apart and sat there with their foreheads pressed together. He felt simultaneously heartbroken and healed as he stared at her. He wasn’t going to let her take on the burden of another death – and if Ariel still wanted to die after they’d removed her memories, he would do it.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there after that, but eventually he hauled them both from the ground and they slowly made their way back to the cottage to get the purse he’d left at the table after his quick exit. He could have summoned it, and he’d offered to, but Hermione had insisted on going back to the cottage because she wanted to speak to Arthur. Harry had begrudgingly agreed under the condition that they did not stick around or continue any other discussion with the Order – they would simply grab the purse, speak to Arthur quickly and then go to their tent.

It proved easier to do than he’d anticipated.

When they’d entered the cottage, the entire room went silent, the only sound audible being their footsteps and the sound of water dripping from their clothes onto the floor. Hermione kept her head held high despite the fact that she looked like the embodiment of death and probably felt like it too. Ava, Charlie and Luna were nowhere in sight but everyone else remained seated at the table with tense expressions and everyone’s eyes darted to Hermione as she followed Harry toward the table.

“Unless there is anything else urgent that needs to be discussed for tomorrow we are going to turn in for the night,” Harry said as he picked up the purse from the table. No one spoke, they all continued to stare at Hermione until Shacklebolt cleared his throat and looked to Harry.

“Yes, that’s fine – we are all set for tomorrow. Arthur and Bill will remove their memories first thing in the morning and keep us posted on how the day goes through the tags – I hope you don’t mind, but we were hoping that we could keep using them for the time being,” Shacklebolt’s eyes darted to Hermione at his last remark.

“Yes, that’s fine. I might make some upgrades to them in the next few days but they will work for now,” she nodded to Shacklebolt before turning to Arthur. “Arthur if you have a second, I would like to speak to you quickly before we leave.”

“Of course,” Arthur agreed, his voice sounded rough as he spoke, but he carefully pulled himself up from the table and made his way toward the living room where Hermione was headed.

“Everyone else – we’ll meet here tomorrow night at 7pm,” Harry said to the table. “Fleur, Hermione and I will come by tomorrow morning and we can start working out a plan for the remaining muggles – I’m not sure what time but probably before lunch.”

“It ‘as been a long day ‘Arry,” Fleur said gently as she gave him a small smile and slid a container of food along the table towards him. “I will be ‘ere all day tomorrow, so come when you are ready.”

“Thanks,” Harry gave her a small smile as he grabbed the leftovers from the table and headed towards Hermione and Arthur. He could see that they were both waiting for him and Arthur was looking rather tense.

“Arthur,” Hermione started in a low and calm voice once Harry had reached her side. “I know that this is going to be hard, but we need to talk about your leg quick before you go home.”

Harry saw Arthur’s jaw tighten but he nodded firmly and did his best to remain calm.

“It was a bite – wasn’t it?” he said quietly, his eyes flicking between the two of them. Harry knew him well enough to know that the man was more concerned about their drenched and ragged appearance than the news he’d just been given.

“Yes,” Hermione said quietly. “We checked with the diagnostic – you’re infected, and it is too late to start the wolfsbane potion for this week.”

Arthur’s lips twisted into a grim smile. “Well at least the full moon is a Saturday this month.”

“It’s lucky,” Harry nodded. “But we need to come up with a long term plan because wolfsbane potion usually leaves you in rough shape for a week after transforming. We can discuss the details tomorrow – but either this war needs to end within the month, you need to take sick time from work and make it convincing, or we use our third option.”

“What’s the third option?” Arthur asked, his eyes darting to Harry as Hermione arched a brow at him in question.

“I’m not sure if it will work yet,” Harry glanced to Hermione’s questioning face. “Just a hunch I had but I need to discuss it with Hermione first to make sure that it’s feasible.”

“Alright,” Arthur nodded. “If there is anything I can do to help just let me know – for now I’ll start planning to use my sick time.”

Hermione asked Arthur about the pain in his leg and Harry fished out some additional muggle pain meds for him to use the following day. He knew that Hermione was itching to ask him about the _third option_ he’d wanted to discuss with her, but it could wait. Instead they ensured that Arthur was set with a refreshed numbing charm on his leg and more pain pills before leaving the cottage and heading back out into the rain. He’d seen Arthur hesitate when they said goodbye – but thankfully the man let them go without returning the conversation back to gratitude or apologies. Harry had nodded to him before placing his arm over Hermione’s shoulder and leading her from the cottage.

He’d intended for them to head straight to their usual dune and set up camp – but Hermione had detoured and pulled him toward the small wood pile at the back of the cottage. Then using the light from her wand, and ignoring the rain – she carefully selected a large sleek looking tree stump and began hauling it manually out to the dune where Dobby was buried.

He didn’t protest – because he understood. Instead he placed Draco’s wand between his teeth to light the way and helped Hermione haul the large stump across the soaking wet sand. When they got to the top of the dune, they dropped the stump just a few feet from Dobby’s headstone and Harry lit the hill for her – standing perfectly still and silent as she worked. Her shoulders sagged, her body shook, her face was pinched with pain but she carefully transfigured the stump into a simple but elegant cross. She engraved only his name, centered on the horizontal cross piece in simple graceful silver letters. They stood there silently for a long full minute, encased entirely in darkness and rain until finally he felt Hermione squeeze his hand and they moved toward their dune.

Harry knew that he didn’t feel the same way about Nasir’s death that Hermione did – he knew that to Hermione; Nasir was her _first_ true mentor. A kindred spirit. Something like what Dumbledore had been to him throughout the years, what Sirius had very briefly been to him, what Remus had been to him in third year and even what fake Moody had been to him in fourth year. He knew that Nasir’s death was leaving a bigger hole in her life than it had in his own.

But it still fucking hurt.

It hurt so bad that as he set up the tent, he couldn’t tell if it was rain on his face or if he was crying – and he knew that Hermione must be in agony.

-x-x-

(To be continued…)

Hey friends!

This is a double upload weekend, chapters 51 and 52 will be posted! (working on 52 now)

I hope that you enjoy them :) Just wanted to let you all know that I am taking next weekend off and will **NOT** be posting an update on May 10th. Apologies if this bums you out :( I genuinely am sorry, but I have a bunch of stuff that I need to get done at home that I’ve been putting off. It’s part of the reason why this set was late, so I figure it would be best to just take a few days off and get shit done. That way I can complete everything in one weekend – but unfortunately that means that I won’t have time to write a chapter.

I could have just saved ch 52 and posted it next weekend… but I know myself well and I would have ended up tinkering with it over the week/weekend despite it being _done_. So, I thought it best to just post it now :) That said, if you want to chat this week feel free to stop by the discord group! You can DM me there or join the group chat: https://discord.gg/brpQek

I hope you all have a lovely next two weeks! I’ll be back with a regular update on May 17th.

Know that you are loved and that I **am** coming back so don’t be worried ;)

<3

T


	52. Fifty-Two: Severus Snape - Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Welp… this chapter we spend time with Snape, and it covers some things that quite a few of you have been asking about.  
> This is one of those chapters where… I suppose if you really hate Snape you could get away without reading it. The main story will still make sense if you skip it but it does answers some questions regarding the fallout with Ginny and what happened to Snape Monday morning.  
> 2\. Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> Once again BAMF JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to this beautiful creation - I own none of this, I own nothing at all.
> 
> ***WARNINGS***:  
> \- Voldemort is a BAD dude… torture, blood, unnecessary violence and pain – like super bad. He’s sort of the worst. I tried not to go into too many details (but the gore isn’t the point) but the concept is still disturbing so if you are squeamish you probably won’t like this.
> 
> Updates on Sundays, but I’ll try to sneak in an additional chapter on Wednesday when possible.

**Fluffy – as always, this Snape chapter is dedicated to you <3**

**Aani, once again, thank you for keeping me sane this week ;) you are simply put – the best human <3**

**April 9, 1998**

**Hogwarts, 10:15 am**

_Where the fuck is she?!_

Snape moved soundlessly down the large corridor, his eyes sweeping along the statues and intersecting hallways as he rapidly moved his way past the library. He’d run into the Weasley girl countless times before by accident and the one damn time he was actually looking for her it was like she’d disappeared from the school grounds entirely. He wished that he had that map Potter had – he knew it was a map, he’d just never figured out how it worked.

_Fuck!_

He stopped at the next intersection, his eyes darting down the empty quiet hall to the left then flicking back to the main hall that diverted to the right. After spending most of the morning fixing the boathouse and repairing the damage that the Carrows had done – honestly, they’d done more damage than the bloody enchanted cloaks and rocks – he’d finally managed to get back up to the castle to look for the Weasley girl. He hadn’t liked the way that her voice had waivered when they’d spoken in the hall that morning. He hadn’t liked the look on her face either – something was off and based on the relationship he knew she had with the Bones girl he suspected that she’d seen something. She’d possibly seen _everything_ and that was a risk that he could not leave unattended.

If not for McGonagall running her way down the hallway, he would have obliviated the annoying redhead right then and there without even checking to confirm what she knew – but he’d been boxed in. He’d not had any other option but to leave. He was already running late to get down to the boathouse, and he knew that McGonagall was always prepared to defend herself. He’d never have been able to get away with obliviating the Weasley girl in the hall without setting off McGonagall and if he’d gone for McGonagall first it would have turned into a duel. He knew that he could beat the woman in a duel no problem – but it would take time if he wanted to avoid killing her and it would be loud and obnoxious like the Gryffindor she was. His only option at the time was to leave and then seek the redhead out later to search through her memories.

It should have been easy because she should have been in class, but she wasn’t.

McGonagall had excused both Bones and Weasley from their classes for the day, sighting illness as the reason – he’d found that out after looking for the Weasley girl in her charms class and being informed by a rather pleased looking Flitwick that she was not there because she was ‘ _terribly ill’_. Undoubtedly the ‘ _illness’_ would be ‘ _verified’_ by Pomfrey and made to look real by way of some Weasley joke shop abomination when in reality he knew McGonagall had given the girls a day off to deal with the death of Bones’ family. He grimaced and turned down the smaller hallway to the left.

He couldn’t blame the older woman.

Their deaths were unfortunate – it was always going to happen – but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. The least they could do was give the girl some time to grieve but unfortunately the most she would get was a day. Anything more than that he couldn’t allow without drawing suspicion and even McGonagall would understand that. She knew that they could not afford to show weakness to the Carrows.

His chest ached painfully as he silently weaved his way down three more hallways. For being a small little brat, she packed a decent punch. It had been years since he’d been decked in the face and while he’d quickly healed all the broken bones and bruising on his face, he’d yet to do anything about the bruising on his chest and ribs. He could tell from the way it hurt to breathe that he was likely littered with a collection of dark bruises.

He turned another corner and moved rapidly up several sets of stairs.

He could have stopped her. He could have frozen her in place and avoided the physical violence – but seeing the distress and rage on her face had stilled him and made a heavy sadness fill his heart. The girl was devastated. She was in agony, she was angry, and she wanted to hurt him – so he let her, because he deserved it. Because he didn’t matter, because _it_ didn’t matter – he was going to obliviate her regardless and frankly he just could not bring himself to stop her. She’d caught him off guard with her first punch and it had hurt more than just physically. In a twisted way it had seemed fair and a warped part of him had almost needed it to happen – he’d needed it to physically hurt to match the words she’d spat at him and the heavy agony that filled his soul.

He _was_ a monster.

He was a terrible person, and while he’d not actually ordered the hit on her parents – he’d done absolutely nothing to stop it. Just like he’d done nothing to stop countless other deaths that weighed heavy in his mind and ate away at the back of his conscience. He might be working on the side of the light – but he was not a good person and he deserved everything that she gave him and more. Hell, he’d have let her go on for longer if not for the fact that she’d already broken his nose, two of his ribs and they were standing in the middle of a hallway at risk of being seen.

He bit back a groan as he turned another corner and tried to keep his irritation at bay – which seemed to be an increasingly difficult thing to do. McGonagall would _never_ tell him where they were, Pomfrey would not allow him into the Hospital ward without pitching a fit ‘ _because they were ill_ ’ – not that it mattered because he’d already snuck in there and he knew they weren’t there. Which meant that they were somewhere else in the castle. It was possible that they were in a common room somewhere – which made things more challenging but not impossible since most students were in class right now. Yet he suspected that wasn’t the case. Something was itching in the back of his mind that told him to keep searching the halls because if his suspicions were correct and the Weasley girl had seen or heard his interactions with Miss Bones – then she’d surely be trying to find a way to tell Potter, and he needed to make sure that didn’t happen.

He turned two more corners and then slowed – someone was coming down the hallway toward him. They were moving slowly, quietly, and carefully because they were disillusioned. They’d seen him but they had nowhere else to turn and were trying to sneak past. They were near invisible and had it been any other professor they probably would have gotten away with it because their _muffliato_ was well done – but he could just make out the warped shape of the disillusionment charm near the top of their head.

It was Weasley – he fucking knew it.

He kept his face impassive as he moved down the hallway, noting that the individual slowed and froze near the wall on his right as he grew closer. Just before he passed by them, he turned rapidly and grabbed them roughly by the shoulder, yanking them away from the wall.

“Miss Weasley,” Snape said in a low cold voice. “I suggest you remove your disillusionment charm before you end up assigned as the Carrows’ personal demonstration assistant for the remainder of your term.”

The charm flickered and then disappeared to reveal a pale but yet not entirely terrified Miss Weasley. She was looking up at him carefully though the usual defiance and terror was missing from her eyes – which only confirmed his suspicions.

“You are to either be in class, in your common room or in the hospital ward – _what_ are you doing on the sixth floor?”

“Nothing, Sir.”

His eyes narrowed at her. She knew. She bloody well knew, and she’d had three fucking hours to do something about it.

He felt his jaw tighten as his eyes quickly flicked to either side of them. There were no rooms on the sixth floor – and he wasn’t stupid enough to allow anything else to transpire out in the open or to waste time dragging her down the corridor to try and find a quiet place to obliviate her. Without hesitating he dropped his hold on her shoulder and quickly grabbed her hand – he felt her flinch at the contact, but he didn’t give her even a millisecond to react before he apparated them both to the Headmaster’s office. It was one of the few perks of being the Headmaster that he actually enjoyed.

They landed with a loud crack and he immediately dropped her hand, quickly grabbing her by the back of her robes to stop her from faceplanting when she stumbled forward. When she’d finally steadied herself, he dropped his hold on her and stepped back, watching through narrowed eyes as she clutched her stomach and turned around to face him. Thankfully she didn’t vomit, she must have side-apparated before – but evidently not _too_ many times since her face looked slightly nauseous.

“Take a seat,” his voice was low and flat as he inclined his head toward the armchair in front of the bookshelf to her right.

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to it and then back to him before she slowly moved to the armchair and cautiously sat down.

“Severus,” Dumbledore’s low careful voice rang out behind him and he bit back the urge to throw the opposite armchair at the portrait. “What’s going on?”

“Just taking care of a small _issue_ ,” Snape turned and glared at the portrait. It didn’t matter what happened now – the office was locked, silenced and warded. The Weasley girl wasn’t going anywhere, and she would not remember a damn thing when this was over. He didn’t have the patience to reign in his frustration with the dead headmaster anymore after what happened with Nasir. “As per _your_ instructions.”

He cast a wordless silencing charm around them to divide the room, blocking out Dumbledore so he could no longer interrupt them. The girl seemed to notice because her eyes flicked quickly between him and the portrait where Dumbledore’s mouth was still moving yet no sound could be heard.

“Where were you this morning?” Snape turned his glare to her.

“At breakfast,” she glared right back at him, her eyes defiant. “In the Great Hall.”

Snape’s glare narrowed. He was wasting his time – there was no point in questioning her because she’d never say anything to confirm or deny what she knew. _Obliviation_ on unwilling subjects was just as illegal and morally wrong as using _legilimency_ so he may as well search her mind and get this over with. He took a step toward her and her eyes suddenly widened, her grip on the chair tightened and her hand shot out before her.

“No wait,” her voice was tight. He could tell that her heart was racing from the way that her pupils had dilated and her body had tensed. “Wait – please wait – I – I didn’t tell anyone.”

He paused three feet away from her and raised a single brow. “Didn’t tell anyone what?”

She swallowed hard, her hand lowering back to her side and knotting into the fabric of her school uniform. “About what happened – what you did – I didn’t tell anyone that Susan punched you, or that you obliviated her and let her go. I – I didn’t say anything – so you don’t have to obliviate me. I _won’t_ tell anyone.”

Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes as his face twisted into an amused smirk. She watched his display of emotion with wide eyes and he realized that this was probably the first time in history that a student had ever seen him emote. Aside from Potter, he was the only one to ever see him react – and in that case it had been rage. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what must be going through her head right now.

“Well it isn’t about who you would _tell_ ,” Snape said coldly before his eyes hardened and his face became serious once more. He moved another step forward and she raised her head to look up at him. “It’s about _who_ would _take_ it from you – or have you forgotten that veritaserum is used on a semi-regular basis here?”

She watched him carefully and he could see her rapidly fitting the pieces together in her head before she spoke again. “You’re still helping – aren’t you?”

_She’s cleverer than her peers._

“ _That_ – is none of your business,” he said coldly, and his eyes narrowed in irritation. It was a good thing that he’d found her because she seemed to be realizing the bigger picture.

“But we’ve been – I’ve been – we’ve caused so much trouble for you!” she stood from the chair before him, her hands fisting at her sides as she glared up at him. “If you obliviate me I’ll just go right back to tormenting you and causing more problems! _Most_ of the things we’ve done have prevented students from getting tortured or losing limbs but every time we _directly_ attack you or the Carrows it’s a risk – but you – you’ve been the one making sure they don’t kill us!”

She took a bold step towards him and Snape’s eyes widened despite himself when she roughly grabbed the front of his robes as her face twisted in anger. He wasn’t sure if she was angry at him or angry at herself – but either way he glared down at the hand gripping his robes in surprise and scowled. This was _too_ bold – this was fucking absurd. It was bad enough that the Bones girl had ploughed right into him this morning and clung to his robes to prevent herself from falling over – but this?! This was just a cherry on top of a cake of unacceptable behaviour.

 _What the fuck is with students nowadays_?

“Surely you could just give them something other than veritaserum if I were to ever be questioned,” the Weasley girl said somewhat desperately as she ignored his obvious reaction to her encroachment on his personal space and complete disregard for boundaries. She’d always been reckless and brazen. “You _can’t_ obliviate me – I’ll just cause more problems and I might get someone killed if you’re not able to stop them!”

Snape felt his patience snap, everything about this was a fucking waste of time and Miss Weasley was getting to big for her damn britches. He grabbed the wrist of the hand clutching his robes and jerked it away to break her hold on him as his temper flared.

“Well unfortunately _you’ve_ already set the standard,” Snape’s icy words spat like venom as he pushed her back the step she’d taken, he let go of her as she stumbled against the armchair. His face turned into a dark sneer as he glared down at her and he saw her flinch under his gaze. “I can’t afford to have you behave any differently now or it will draw suspicion. The best you can do is cross your bloody fingers and hope that going forward you don’t do anything excessively stupid that gets someone killed – those are the consequences of _your_ actions. _Now – take – a – seat_.”

She sat.

Her body moved quickly but her eyes were still searching his face with a myriad of conflicting emotions.

“Can you just remove them instead,” her voice was quiet and sad and so unlike her normal aggressive self. “And give them back to me when this is over.”

Snape faltered his mouth moving before his brain caught up. “ _Why_?”

It was a stupid thing to ask. He didn’t care ‘ _why’_ and he would never agree to such a request. He wasn’t sure why he’d even asked it – fuck he was really starting to slip up.

Ever since Nasir had carved those runes into his chest his exhaustion had tripled, his body felt slower, his mind was agitated and now he’d made two huge mistakes today – allowing the Bones girl to deck him in the face in the middle of a hallway and allowing the girl before him to say anything at all. He should have just used _legilimency_ the second they landed in the safety of his office. Either he was more tired than he realized, or the war was starting to get to him worse than he’d thought and he was beginning to crack under the pressure.

 _Wasting my time having a fucking conversation with a student – what a fucking joke! How pathetic have you become Severus_? he thought bitterly as he closed the distance towards her.

“Because I want to remember,” the redhead said slowly. “When this is over, I want to remember that you helped us.”

Snape felt the weight of the runes on his chest constrict and he knew his face had faltered.

“When this is over that will be an inconsequential detail,” he said quietly before he leaned forward to grab her chin. _Legilimency_ always worked best when you maintained eye contact and the person didn’t move. “Don’t look away from my eyes.”

“I don’t think it’s inconsequential,” she whispered. She didn’t pull away from him as he tilted her head back up to face him and she met his eyes without hesitation. For once in her damned school career the girl was finally listening – but she was looking at him sadly. “Someone should remember what you’ve done – someone should know.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered bitterly.

“But you’ll go to Azkaban,” her eyes creased and something heartbreaking shifted behind them. “ _Don’t you care_?”

Snape looked at her for a quiet moment, he felt his shoulders drop a fraction as the weight on his chest became so unbearable it forced him to drop his guard. He let the coldness in his eyes fade and he knew she could see the agony that replaced it – but he just did not fucking care.

“No,” he said quietly. “Because I’ll be dead – _legilimency_.”

-x-x-

**April 13, 1998**

**Malfoy Manor, 7:09 am**

Snape’s dragon hide boots sloshed through the mud as he made his way through the unnatural downpour toward the front door of Malfoy Manor. He hated coming here on a good day and often he wondered how the hell Narcissa stomached it and managed to get by when her husband had become almost entirely useless. She was – for the most part – holding her own and fending for herself, and she had been for months. However today was possibly the worst day that the Dark Lord could have summoned him, and he fought to control his emotions as he ignored the burn on his left forearm and trudged his way toward the Manor.

It was Monday

The day that Nasir had told him he _might_ lose part of his soul and the last thing he wanted was to lose it while at Malfoy Manor in front of the Dark Lord. It was still early – but Nasir’s words had been vague. _Morning_ could mean anything from midnight until 11:59 am which meant that any time in the next five hours he could be rendered unconscious while being in incredible amounts of pain. He’d been planning to spend the entire day locked safely in his quarters – he’d even managed to plot a distraction for the Carrows to keep them away from the students so he wouldn’t need to worry about them.

But of course, life had other plans.

He’d woken from his already turbulent sleep to the excruciating burn on his arm and blindly grabbed his frock coat and put on his boots before apparating away to the Manor. He’d gotten in the habit of just sleeping in his clothes and using a de-wrinkling charm to save on time. He was glad he’d continued the habit last night even though he’d been planning to stay in today.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he arrived. This was not a planned meeting and thus it could range from a quick five minute conversation, to a full blown interrogation, to a daylong group discussion, to a few hours of unnecessary torture – his stomach rolled at the thought. He was glad that he had not eaten anything yet. As far as he knew there were no new captives and there’d been little movement from the Order or Potter and Granger. He knew they were training, he knew they were planning to attack the werewolf den but he had no specifics because it seemed like they kept the purse closed during their meetings with the Order. Whether they had caught on to the spying and suspected something or whether it was purely coincidence he did not know – and it concerned him after what had happened with the Weasley girl.

It turned out that Miss Weasley hadn’t been lying, she hadn’t told anyone.

At least not from the memories that _remained_ in her head. Everything was intact up until around 9:30 am. She’d gone with McGonagall to her quarters and stayed with Susan for a while. She’d been trying to think up ways to tell Potter and Granger about what she’d seen but any idea she’d come up with hadn’t been tangible. She didn’t say anything to McGonagall and at 9:20 am she’d left Susan with the older woman and made her way back to the Gryffindor common room disillusioned – at which point her memories became twisted. Distorted. Damaged.

 _Someone_ had obliviated her memories from the morning, but they’d not done a very good job. The time gap was painfully obvious. Fragments remained but none of them were useful to him and none of them gave any indication as to how she got from the Gryffindor common room to the sixth floor. There was a very good chance that at the time he’d found her even she didn’t know why she was there.

To say that his findings had been a concern was an understatement – but there was absolutely nothing that he could do about it. Aside from pulling in every one of her known accomplices and questioning them he’d never know what she did between 9:30 am and 10:15 am when he caught her. He got the distinct impression that it was intentional, and he realized there was a very real possibility that she’d done it to herself. She’d expected him to come find her and she’d made damn sure that he wouldn’t see whatever it was that she did. In a strange way – as frustrating as it was – he was impressed.

She was just as bloody relentless as Granger.

So, he obliviated the remainder of her memories on the topic, cleaned up the mess in her mind and let her go – he’d apparated her to just outside of McGonagall’s quarters, whispering quietly to her that she needed to go inside and see the Bones girl. He left before her dazed state wore off knowing that she’d never remember anything from their interaction. All he could do now was wait and deal with the fallout of whatever she’d done when and if it happened.

Regardless of knowing there was nothing he could do he felt his heart thrumming quickly in his chest at the thought as he climbed the front stairs of the Manor and wrenched open the door. He was about to make his way upstairs to the large dining room when a low groan sounded to his right and he froze. A second similar sound echoed through the dimly lit entrance way once more and he felt a shiver run down his spine. He knew that sound. He’d heard it many times over the years and it was just a precursor for much more terrible sounds to come. His stomach twisted violently in recognition of just what kind of _call_ this was and he turned and made his way toward the front drawing room, preparing himself for what he already knew would be inside.

Sure enough when he entered, he came face to face with gleaming red eyes, the smell of blood and vomit, the sight of Nagini curled in the corner and a battered man tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Blood soaked the ground, more stains that Narcissa would never be able to remove. The individual in the chair was unrecognizable. Blood covered his body, his face was swollen and blacked with bruises, he was missing an arm, and his left leg was cut off just below the knee. It looked like someone had cauterized it with a blowtorch but they’d done a ghastly job of it. There was a distinct twitch to his body and Snape immediately knew he’d undergone several round of _cruciatus_ and low groans continued to seep through his semiconscious lips.

“Ssseverus,” Voldemort hissed as he stepped away from the man in the center of the room and moved towards him.

Snape made sure that his face remained completely impassive as he gently closed the doors behind him and moved toward the wretched red eyed demon.

“My Lord,” he gave him a quick bow as his eyes flicked to the man in the center of the room indifferently before shifting back to the Dark Lord. “How may I be of assistance?”

“I need some information from our guest,” Voldemort said quietly, a disturbing smile curling across his lips. “It seems that he has been keeping ingredients underground – and artificially creating shortages to our supply lines.”

“I see,” Snape said impassively though his heart rate spiked. His eyes shifted lazily back to the man in the chair and he fought against the urge to react when he realized who it was. _Peter_. “And you would like me to examine him my Lord?”

“Yesss,” Voldemort moved around him toward the armchair by the fire and took a seat. “I always find you have a knack for locating memories I _just_ can’t seem to find.”

That was a lie.

The Dark Lord was just as accomplished as he was with _legilimency_ , but this was something that he did on a semi-regular basis. Peter had already been questioned. Question, torture, repair – repeat. It was the process the Dark Lord used to get what he wanted – then occasionally he would call in Snape and ask him to perform _legilimency_ to confirm his findings. He did it to ensure that Snape was loyal – to ensure that he _found_ everything that he already knew, and he usually did it when he’d already found something damming toward a previous known associate of Snape’s.

This was just another test.

The Dark Lord wanted him to find something specific and reveal it without hesitation – even if it meant the death of someone he knew.

“Of course, my Lord,” Snape nodded and moved toward the battered looking man. He paused when the doors to the room opened and Narcissa walked in holding a familiar vial of potion. She was carefully controlling her face, but Snape knew she was agitated, and she was carefully avoiding looking directly at the man in the middle of the room.

“My Lord,” she said quietly, inclining her head. “I have the potion as requested – this should make him lucid for Severus’ questioning.”

The Dark Lord nodded but made no movement so Narcissa approached Snape and handed over the vial. He ignored the slight tremble he felt in her fingers as they brushed against his and instead turned toward the man in the chair and got to work as Narcissa bowed to the Dark Lord and left the room.

He poured the potion down Peter’s throat and bit back a grimace as his eyes shot wide and an agonizing cry left his lips. He looked panicked, his eyes rolled before they began searching the room around him and then locked to Snape’s with glaring defiance.

“ _YOU_!” he spat as he tugged against the restraints holding him in the chair. “ _You should be ashamed of yourself_!”

Snape ignored his words, moving swiftly and grabbing his chin roughly before muttering one single word.

“ _Legilimens_.”

It took a while to sort through everything – that was the problem with combining torture and questioning. It blurred things together, the pain messed with the mind and turned it into a cluster fuck. Not to mention that the Dark Lord had zero finesse and he rampaged through people’s memories like a rabid zouwu and left things in tatters. It was like searching through a rat’s nest except that he didn’t even know what he was looking for – but despite this he found it.

It took him just over half an hour to sort through all the shattered fragments and piece things together. It turned out Peter had indeed been hoarding supplies and creating shortages for the Death Eaters. He’d been working with them and complying with them, but he’d been limiting what he could and hiding large quantities of key ingredients unground. He’d also been packaging up goods and shipping them out at night with his disillusioned owl and even charmed broomsticks. Yet thankfully, there was no trace of who they were sent to – he had his suspicions, he knew it was all going to the Order but there was absolutely nothing in Peter’s head to confirm that. He fought back the urge to sigh in relief, the last thing he wanted to do was condemn Arthur or Shacklebolt to an _interrogation_ – which he would have _had_ to do if Peter had anything incriminating on them, but he didn’t.

In fact, Peter’s memories seemed to suggest something else entirely. He was shorting **_everyone_** including Molly and the other regular customers when they came in to buy common potion supplies. He had memories of her looking disappointed when he told her that he didn’t have enough for her pepperup potion requirements and she’d had to leave with half the bicorn powder she needed. He had memories of making agreements with the Death Eaters for supply orders, then memories of telling Arthur their deal was off and that he’d made other arrangements with the Death Eaters. Arthur had looked agitated and frustrated during their meeting – yet he also had those memories of shipping out supplies to an unknown source.

Everything in his head seemed to hint that there was another faction – some other unknown group out there that he’d struck a deal with. A _new_ group that perhaps the Dark Lord should be very concerned about. Snape was smart enough to know that Peter must have been altering his memories or had some removed in order to protect the Order but because nothing appeared to be tampered with in his mind, everything looked perfectly legitimate.

He had no idea how Peter had done it, as far as he knew the man was not a occlumens or legilimens – but this was better than he could have anticipated. The Dark Lord would have already considered that this was a set-up. He would have already considered that Peter modified his memories and was setting a false trail. But the reality was, for as terrifyingly brilliant and immensely magically gifted as the Dark Lord was – he was extraordinarily paranoid. There was a reason why he kept strict ranks and killed people without a second thought if something looked suspicious. There was a reason why he constantly tested Snape and asked him to complete tasks like this. The man was obsessed with two things and two things only: killing Potter and keeping power. Both of which made him incredibly susceptible to doubt and suspicion. It was literally his only weakness but it rarely caused him any problems because he would just find new people to replace the ones that he killed and he was too powerful to ever feel legitimately threatened by anyone in his ranks.

The only blatantly incriminating things Snape had found was the memory of Granger throwing up on the floor of Peter’s study and apologizing before Potter dragged her backward out the window, and how Peter had lied to the snatchers about the alarms and what happened. Otherwise there was nothing else significant in his head that could harm anyone he knew. Snape dropped his hold on the man’s chin and stepped back. This would not end well for Peter, but at least the Order would be safe for another few weeks unless they majorly and obviously fucked up.

Narcissa had reentered the room some time while he was completing his review and was standing near the fire a few feet away from the Dark Lord.

“Potter was at the apothecary,” Snape said calmly, his eyes watching for a reaction on the Dark Lord’s face. “He stole ingredients, but I can’t be sure of the exact quantities because Peter never confirmed it. He lied to the snatchers about the break-in to cover Potter’s tracks, he’s been hoarding ingredients since the new year and creating false shortages. He’s be sending out large quantities of supplies to an unknown group, but –“

Snape paused for a moment in order to add additional seriousness to something he knew was a non-issue.

“I’m not convinced that it was the Order he was sending the goods to. I’ve double checked his memories twice – nothing has been tampered with,” that was a lie, there may be no evidence of tampering, but he instinctively _knew_ they’d been modified. He kept his eyes serious and locked to the Dark Lord. “Something is going on – I’m not sure what but based on how things went with Arthur Weasley – I think we need to take this seriously.”

Snape had let his voice get a bit tighter as he spoke, and he saw the Dark Lord’s eyes darken as he stood from his chair and moved towards him.

“My thoughts exactly Ssseverus,” his voice was low, and Snape could hear the underlying agitation as he continued to close the distance with his unnatural gate. “I’ve heard rumors – about something that is deeply concerning, something that I’ve yet to share with you.”

“What is it my Lord?” Snape asked carefully.

“Someone has come back to England,” Voldemort said quietly as he stopped just a foot before Snape.

“Who my Lord?”

“ _Nasir_.”

Snape’s eyes widened and he didn’t stop his brows from jerking up a fraction at the sound of the man’s name. “Are you sure my Lord?”

“Do you doubt me Sseverus,” Voldemort snarled as he took a final step closer, bringing him uncomfortably close and forcing Snape to crane his neck to look up at the tall man. He smelled of death and rot and he had to fight back the urge to gag.

“No, my Lord – of course not my Lord,” Snape said quickly. “I’m just surprised my Lord – I thought he was dead.”

“Asss did everyone else,” Voldemort hissed angrily in his face before he began circling around Snape like a predator circling its prey. “But I’d always suspected it to be untrue. I’d always suspected he was lying in wait.”

“Do you think he is working with the Order?” Snape prompted. He knew the answer to this already, but he knew that the Dark Lord would never suspect it. He just needed to solidify that doubt.

“Of course not!” Voldemort’s face twisted in rage as he stopped before Snape once more. “That _man_ despises Dumbledore almost as much as I do – he wouldn’t be caught _dead_ working with that sad excuse of a rebellion! He has no interest in _them_!”

Snape nodded, keeping his face neutral once more. “What would you have me do my Lord – do you want me to locate him?”

“Not yet,” Voldemort said quietly as he moved back toward Peter and grabbed his hair. His movements looked effortless, yet Peter’s head flopped like a ragdoll under his touch as he yanked his head back. “I’ll let you know what I need when I need it Severus – for now, be alert.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Snape nodded. He stayed where he was since he hadn’t been dismissed, and he watched as the Dark Lord yanked Peter’s head back so far he groaned out in pain.

“I – I’m not – going to tell you – anything,” Peter panted out as he glared up at the red eyes above him. He was brave, Snape would give him that, but unfortunately it would do nothing for him here.

“I know,” Voldemort whispered as he leaned down uncomfortably close to Peter and a disturbing smile cut across his noseless face, exposing a set of irregularly sharp teeth. “I _already_ have the information that I need from your mind – but that doesn’t make your _body_ worthless.”

Snape felt his stomach twist as bile hit the back of his throat. He knew exactly what was going to happen next, and he resisted the urge to glance at Narcissa. She’d never seen something like this, it was going to destroy her, and he just hoped that she had the strength to bear through it. He hoped she realized that this was a test for her and if she managed to get through it she’d be planting herself deeper in his pocket and thus making herself more indispensable.

“Narcissa,” Voldemort called to her. “The second potion.”

“Yes, my Lord,” her voice was even, and her steps were steady as she crossed the floor and brought him what Snape already knew was a bottle of blood replenisher. It would prevent Peter from bleeding out too quickly while the Dark Lord skinned him alive – and the potion, his potion, the one that _he’d_ poured down Peter’s throat would keep him conscious throughout the entire ordeal. Or for most of it anyways, eventually his heart would give out or he’d run out of blood.

Snape felt his heart plummet to his stomach as he took several steps back to move out of Narcissa’s way, only for her to come and stand by his side as the Dark Lord began. Peter’s screams split through the air, they ran down his spine and threatened to make him sick as he watched the horror unfold before him. He could taste the vomit in his mouth as his heart rate spiked, his muscles tensed, and his heart broke into pieces.

He wanted to die.

He wanted the war to be over so his life could finally end, and he could escape all of this.

He wanted Peter to die.

He wanted it to be over so that man no longer had to suffer. It made him sick, it made him want to claw his own eyes out or rip his ears off so that he didn’t have to see it or experience it. Yet he watched it anyways – not only because he knew that if he didn’t the Dark Lord would turn on him – but because Peter’s pain was a million times worse.

Peter was going to die – die one of the most gruesome deaths possible while he stood there and did _nothing_. Snape deserved to die for letting it happen – but he couldn’t die yet, not until he knew that the Dark Lord would fall. So at the very least he deserved to feel sick, he deserved to be in pain because it was nothing in comparison to what the man before him was going through. The one other time he’d witnessed this practice he’d not slept for the entire following week. He’d been unable to eat and borderline unable to function, but Dumbledore had all but outright told him to suck it up – because that one life was saving dozens and it was about the ‘ _bigger_ _picture’_.

This was no different. Peter’s life and strategically altered memories would misdirect the Dark Lord and give the Order a better shot.

But it still wasn’t right.

It wasn’t fucking right, and he hated it.

The only thing that kept him sane as each piece of skin fell to the floor with a sickening slap was thinking about how this piece of shit demon was going to die. That he was going to fucking die and Snape would laugh the moment it happened before rolling into his grave reveling in the fact that he’d known it all along – that he’d managed to lie to the Dark Lord’s face for nearly twenty years and he’d gotten away with it.

Nasir _had_ returned and he _was_ actually working with the Order – and he was one of the few people in the world who stood a chance at taking the Dark Lord down. If Potter and Granger continued to train with him – they might stand a chance too. If they could find and get rid of the remaining horcruxes – he might truly get to see this monstrosity fall before he took his last wretched breath.

He was pulled from his thoughts when halfway through he felt Narcissa flinch at his side and his back stiffened in alert. She needed to keep it together or she’d only make things worse. But she flinched a second time – then a third and he felt a panic start to rise in his chest. He might not be able to save Peter – but he was not going to let her die at the hands of a maniac because she had a heart. Especially not when he knew she was only trying to clean up the mess that her idiot husband had dragged her into.

When the Dark Lord turned his back to them to shift around what remained of Peter – Snape, against his better judgement, reached out to his left and grabbed her hand. It was freezing cold and shaking with a low steady tremble that threatened to give away her inner turmoil. The second his fingers brushed hers she flinched and started to pull away only to freeze a fraction of a second later and grab his hand so tight he thought it might break. Her nails bit into his skin like talons, her grip disproportionately strong compared to how small and fragile her hands looked. He squeezed her hand back and they stood that way for ten long seconds until the Dark Lord shifted and they both let go.

The whole process only took ten minutes – but it felt like a lifetime. The room had gone silent three minutes ago and the empty hollow echoed in his ears as the Dark Lord turned to look at them both. It was important to show fear – he liked to know that his followers feared him, you just couldn’t show disgust, remorse, or look disturbed like you’d disagreed with his methods. Evidently Narcissa must have managed to sort out her face because the Dark Lord’s gleaming eyes showed no sign of displeasure – just the regular amount of crazed disturbing anger.

“Clean this up,” his low voice was deadly as he started to shift toward Nagini. Snape could hear the snake unfolding herself from her knot in the corner to slither towards him.

“Yes, my Lord,” Narcissa’s voice was even but laced with fear.

“And get your husband to pin the body on the front of the apothecary – _now_ ,” Voldemort said darkly as he reached out to touch Nagini’s head. “Surely it is a task that even he can manage.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Narcissa said again.

A loud pop echoed through the room as the Dark Lord and his snake vanished from sight. Snape didn’t move. He stood motionless by her side as she let out a shuddered breath.

“ _Lucius,”_ she called and a moment later the man apparated into sight.

He landed roughly, immediately sagging forward and clutching his stomach before looking up toward them – but seeing what laid before him only made him worse. He faltered completely, stumbling on his legs and gagging as he covered his mouth and turned away from the body and bloody mess on the floor.

“What – what happened?” Lucius gasped as Narcissa cut across the floor towards him.

“The Dark Lord has asked that you take Peter to his apothecary and pin him to the front of the building,” Narcissa answered tightly.

Lucius’ eyes widened as they darted to the chair and he gagged again. His face twisted and something started to shine in his eyes. “T-That’s Peter?”

 _Merlin he’s a broken man_ , Snape thought bitterly as he watched Narcissa wrap her arm around her husband and helped him walk towards the body. _A fucking coward too – he bought this on himself and his family and he doesn’t even have the stomach or decency to deal with the consequences of his actions. Dick._

“Yes – it’s Peter,” Narcissa’s patience seemed to be running thin because her voice was becoming strained. She looked ready to break. “And the Dark Lord wants _you_ to pin him to the front of his apothecary – _now_. I need you to do this Lucius – _please_ , or I’m not sure what he’ll do. Something has changed, there’s a new threat and I think this is supposed to be a statement.”

Lucius’ eyes seemed to light up at that and if Snape didn’t know any better he would have thought that the man’d had a change of heart and was glad to hear that there was a threat to the Dark Lord’s cause. But he did know better – and he knew that Lucius was just looking for a way out. The man was a misogynist pig through and through – he hated muggles, he hated _mudbloods,_ and that would never change. He just wanted a way out of this war because he seemed to finally realize that he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

“Okay,” Lucius nodded and he cautiously approached the corpse.

He pulled a handkerchief from his robes and wrapped it around his hand before inching toward it like it might attack him. He grabbed the wrist like it was the most disgusting thing in the world while maintaining a solid two foot distance from the body. Snape didn’t bother telling him that his _caution_ was wasted since he was about to get covered in blood when he apparated Peter’s remains – he’d let him figure that out for himself.

With a loud crack the two disappeared from sight and Snape was left alone in the room with Narcissa. The only sound filling the silence was the _drip drip drip_ of blood as it ran off the chair to the ground. Without a word Snape pulled his wand from his robes and vanished the pile of skin from the floor.

“Thank you,” Narcissa whispered. Her eyes were red, and a steady stream of tears were falling down her face as she stared at the empty chair. Snape doubted that she even realized she was crying.

He didn’t say anything, he just nodded and then continued to vanish the remaining blood from the floor and chair. It wasn’t possible to get it all – it never was. Not with the dark magic that the Dark Lord used, but after several minutes he got enough of it that it was no longer blatantly obvious someone had just died in the middle of the room. He then picked up the chair and moved it to the side – its normal spot until the next _guest_ arrived. He scowled at that, glaring at the chair as his grip tightened and the knot in his stomach twisted so painfully he thought he might actually get sick. He didn’t realize how long he’d been standing there glaring until he felt a gentle hand on his left arm and he whipped around to see Narcissa staring up at him.

“ _Severus_?” her voice was cautious and it waivered in a way that made his heart hurt even more. She was looking to him for help – for guidance. She was emotionally distraught and lost and he’d opened the bloody door to her when he’d taken her hand – and it had been a mistake.

He couldn’t stay here any longer. He couldn’t be her emotional support because despite her skills with occlumency it put them both at risk. She looked like she was ready to completely breakdown and if he lingered he would feel obligated to pick up the pieces – for fuck’s sake he _already_ felt obligated to. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was that it was too risky. Lucius could return at any moment, the Dark Lord could return at any moment, it was 8:04 am and he needed to get back to the safety of his quarters at Hogwarts before Nasir ripped a piece of his soul away.

He’d already gotten himself into a mess when he let the Bones girl attack him in the hallway – he couldn’t afford any other loose ends.

“I need to get back,” Snape said flatly as he kept his face impassive and stepped away from her. “Let me know if you need any additional potions this week – perhaps some additional calming draught might be a good idea.”

It was the most support he could give her right now and he saw her face crumple before she nodded and clenched her jaw. “I’ll let you know.”

 _Fuck it hurts_.

He felt like he was abandoning her. She’d placed herself in his hands for safe keeping when she’d given him Granger’s wand and now he felt bloody responsible for her wellbeing.

He grit his teeth and nodded, then turned on his heel, cut across the room, moved through the entrance way and outside into the storm. The rain hit him hard as the doors closed behind him and he paused for a second as he looked up at the dark raging sky. It looked ominous, deadly, foreboding – it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he stepped out into the flood and lightning flashed across the sky. The ground was soggy beneath his feet as he started his way down the path, through the mud and past the tall trees toward the gate. He hated this walk. It always took too long and it –

Snape froze mid-step as he felt something tug hard against his chest. It was like someone had tethered a rope to his core and given it a sharp pull. His hand started to shake involuntarily as he clutched the front of his robes and clenched his teeth.

_What the fuck?!_

It happened again, but this time it was harder, and he felt a sharp pain through his heart like he’d been stabbed.

“Oh fuck no –“ his eyes went wide with realization and he took off at a run toward the gate as the violent wind ripped at his body and threatened to knock him over. “No – no, no, no – _NO ARGGGH FUCK_!!”

The third tug pulled so hard he couldn’t breathe; his legs gave out beneath him and he collapsed to his knees in the mud as he clutched his chest and his face contorted in pain. A scream ripped through his lungs as agony exploded from the center of his being and radiated throughout his body. He could feel it everywhere, his hands, his neck, his eyes, his toes – it burned and ached as the runes grew heavy like a boulder. He gasped for air, black and red spotting his vision as he coughed and spat up blood.

 _I’m going to die_.

It was the only thought that circled his mind as it felt like his body was set on fire while simultaneously being ripped in half. It was worse than the rune carving, worse than the _cruciatus_ , worse than anything that he’d ever experienced in his life. Every muscle in his body tensed as every fiber of his being was scorched with pain and he dropped completely into the mud. He clawed at his chest blindly, his body twitching in pain as the burning sensation grew until it finally peaked, and it felt like every bone in his body had just broken. He vomited as his vision blurred. A fourth and final tug ripped through his body and a godawful sound poured from his mouth as blood trickled from his lips. He lost the ability to think, he lost the ability to see and his mind was consumed by agonizing pain until his vision went blood red and he lost consciousness completely.

-x-x-

Something warm was wrapped around him. Warm and dry. He tried to open his eyes, but they were too heavy. He tried to move his arm – but he couldn’t feel it. He wasn’t even sure if it was there. Actually – he didn’t know where _there_ was since he had no idea where he was at all. He wasn’t entirely convinced that he was alive come to think of it. He was pretty sure that he’d died – maybe – he wasn’t sure.

He couldn’t hear or smell anything, and his brain didn’t seem to be working properly. Thoughts floated in and out of his mind like a whisper but each one was detached and fleeting. He tried to grab on to a few of them, but they slipped through his fingers like water and his mind slipped back into darkness.

It took multiple repetitions of this and what must have been several long minutes of coming in and out of consciousness before he finally shifted and let out a low groan of pain. It felt like his body was broken, he felt like he’d been run over and left to die as his eyes opened painfully and he grimaced at the dim light shining before him.

“Stop moving.”

 _I know that voice_.

He couldn’t seem to make his mouth work and everything before him was swimming in and out of focus as he tried to sit up. Why was he laying down?

“Severus – will you stop moving!”

Something warm and hard pressed against his chest and forced him back down. He grunted in pain, hissing at the contact as his eyes pinched shut – it felt like he’d been punched in the chest, or like someone had just twisted a broken bone.

“Sorry – but you need to stop moving.”

His eyes snapped back open and his surroundings started to drift into focus. He recognized the ceiling – it was his house. _His_ house in Cokeworth. How the fuck did he get to Cokeworth?! The last memory he had was of dying in the muddy lane of Malfoy Manor. His eyes shot wide as the memory finally became clear in his mind and he sat bolt upright in bed, a loud groan escaping his lips as he leaned forward in agony and clutched his chest.

“Severus!”

His head snapped to the left and he finally saw her, his eyes taking in everything now that they were finally working again.

“Narcissa?!” his voice sounded like broken glass and he saw her flinch at the sound as she gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Why are _you_ here?!”

“Why am I here?” she repeated as her face faltered and she stared at him in disbelief.

She was normally the type to respect his privacy, she was normally the type to not ask questions – but he could tell from her appearance that she was far from her normal self. Dried mud caked the front of her elegant robes, her hands were stained with blood (likely his) and several leaves and small twigs littered her hair from the storm. At the Manor after Peter’s death she’d looked ready to crack – but now it looked like she already had. Her normal poised and calm demeanor flew out the window as her face contorted in anger.

“ _WHY_ am _I_ here?!” she dropped her hold on his shoulder and leaned down toward his face. He could see her perfect blue eyes flashing with rage and concern. “The better question is _why_ did _you_ collapse on my lane screaming in pain! I could hear you from the house! The sounds you were making could have travelled for miles, Severus – they were inhuman! Thank Merlin no one else was there and I was able to get you out before Lucius returned – what the bloody hell happened Severus?!”

Snape stared at her silently, clenching his jaw in pain as he fought to stay upright in his bed. He wasn’t comfortable being so blatantly vulnerable in front of other people, he’d wanted to go through this alone in the solitude of his quarters at Hogwarts. Not wake up next to Lucius Malfoy’s wife while she bombarded him with questions. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at him with such obvious concern in their eyes and it only made him feel worse and more uncomfortable than he already did. His spine burned like fire, his muscles ached like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life and his head was throbbing in agony.

But despite this, she stared right back at him – her eyes burning with defiance as she waited, and he refused to answer her.

“How long was I out?” he finally asked, unable to cast a time check spell internally because his head was throbbing so badly.

Her eyes softened a fraction and he saw her extend her hand and summon something from another room. “It’s noon – you were unconscious for four hours. Here – drink this.”

He took the vial from her, recognizing it as a headache potion from his own supply. He did his best to ignore the fact that his hand trembled as he downed the entire bottle. At least he was able to move everything – he’d wiggled his toes to check and he’d shifted everything a fraction to make sure that it all still worked. And while his head felt like it had been bludgeoned – his memories seemed to be intact and his brain seemed to be functioning normally once more.

“Severus,” Narcissa said slowly as she looked him over. “ _What_ happened to you?”

“Nothing,” he said flatly as he looked around and took in the full state of his surroundings.

He could hear the rain outside though it sounded like the storm had mostly passed. Several empty potion vials littered his nightstand, an empty teacup sat next to them and a chair had been brought in from the kitchen and placed beside his bed. He was still in his clothes – they’d been dried, but his muddy outer robes had been removed and were hanging off the hook on the back of his half shut door. His eyes shifted down to his body at the same moment Narcissa folded her arms over her chest and he froze.

_Fuck._

She’d unbuttoned the top three buttons of his dirty white dress shirt and his runes and the red markings on his chest were clearly visible. She must have done it because she’d seen him clawing at his chest – she’d likely even healed several deep scratch marks.

“Nothing,” she said flatly. He could feel the tension in the room grow as she leaned down before him once more and prodded him in the chest directly on his markings. He groaned in pain, flinching as he glared up at her and she arched a perfect brow. “Well then – let me tell you what _I_ think happened. I think you knew this was coming – I think you were trying to leave before it did but you ran out of time. I think you collapsed on my lane, screaming in pain as you convulsed in the mud and spat blood from your mouth while it leaked from your eyes! I think you split your temple open on a rock when you fell to the ground and nearly bit your own bloody tongue off! I think that you _nearly_ died! And I think that it happened because of those bloody _runes_ on your chest!!”

She was seething now, eyes blazing as the final shreds of her pureblood perfection faded away and she allowed herself to be a real human being before him. And in some ways, it was slightly terrifying to witness.

“How _long_ have you had those?” she glared at him hard. “ _Who_ gave them to you? What did they do to you – what did you give away Severus?! What did you just lose when you collapsed on the ground?!”

“Noth-“

“ _Don’t you bloody say nothing_!” she screamed at him and he saw tears break from her eyes as she crumpled into the chair by his bed and grabbed his hand tightly. “I t-thought you were going to die! I patched you up the best I could but I’m not a healer Severus – and I had no idea if you were going to wake up again. You’re the only person I can rely on anymore and I didn’t know if you’d come back. The sounds you made – they – they were like nothing I’ve ever heard, they were worse than –“

Her voice cut off as she shook her head and her face went white. She didn’t need to say it out loud, he knew she was going to say it was worse than Peter – because it had been. She’d heard the sound of a soul being ripped apart and it was unlike any other sound on the planet.

“I know I told you that I didn’t want to know what you were doing,” she continued after she took a deep breath and quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her free hand. He tried to tug his hand from her grasp, but that’d only made her grip it more tightly. “But Severus, what you’re doing – you’re _killing_ yourself. I _know_ what runes are, I _know_ what they do, and I know that those red markings are a contract – they’re a sealing spell. I don’t know why you’re doing this but–“

“Because it’s necessary,” he cut her off hoarsely as he stared at the hand she clutched and refused to let go of. “That’s all I can tell you.”

“All you _can_ , or all you will?” she whispered.

“Does it matter?” Snape turned to look at her. Her eyes were red and puffy, but she was no longer crying. “Narcissa – the less you know the better. Trust me.”

Something painful flashed behind her eyes as she looked at him and squeezed his hand tighter.

“I _do_ trust you, Severus,” she whispered as her eyes grew sadder. “But this is the result – you face everything alone. Always, for as long as I’ve known you and not only do you never ask for help – we just keep asking more of you and you take it. _I_ keep asking more of you – _because_ I trust you.”

She stared at him for a long and silent moment before her thumb brushed over the back of his hand.

“How much of yourself are you going to give away for the benefit of everyone else around you?” her words were barely audible, but Snape stiffened as they rang in his ears. It was a question he’d asked himself long ago and one that he already knew the answer to – _everything_. He’d give fucking everything.

But he wouldn’t tell her that.

“You should go home, Narcissa,” Snape said quietly. He gave her hand a single firm squeeze and she finally let him pull it away. “Thank you for healing me – I’m sorry that you had to hear that. I didn’t want to involve you or anyone else, but I do truly appreciate you bringing me here.”

Two slow tears trickled down her face as she stared at him and reluctantly nodded.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll just – let me just use your restroom to clean myself up and then I’ll leave. But Severus – if there is anything I can ever do to assist you, _please_ tell me.”

Snape nodded and Narcissa stood carefully from the chair and made her way to the door. He could already see the rigid poise returning to her body as her spine stiffened and her chin lifted higher. The woman was stronger than people knew, braver, kinder and far more compassionate. She didn’t deserve to go through this. She didn’t deserve to hear his soul being ripped from his body and she most certainly did not deserve to see Peter get skinned alive. He felt his runes get heavier as he watched the second closet thing he had to a friend walk out his bedroom door.

They both knew he’d never take her up on her offer.

-x-x-

(To be continued…)

Hey friends!

Here is the last chapter of my double upload! I hope you enjoy it :)

Just wanted to let you all know that I am taking next weekend off and will NOT be posting an update on May 10th. Apologies if this bums you out :( I genuinely am sorry, but I have a bunch of stuff that I need to get done at home that I’ve been putting off. It’s part of the reason why this set was late, so I figure it would be best to just take a few days off and get shit done. That way I can complete everything in one weekend – but unfortunately that means that I won’t have time to write a chapter.

If you want to chat this week feel free to stop by the discord group! You can DM me there or join the group chat: https://discord.gg/brpQek 

I hope you all have a lovely next two weeks! I’ll be back with a regular update on May 17th.

Know that you are loved and that I **am** coming back so don’t be worried ;)

<3

T


	53. Chapter Fifty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione, Harry and the Order try to navigate the days post werewolf den operation and tackle the pressing issues of the war including the surviving muggles, food supplies and planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Today we spend time with Hermione and Harry as they continue to navigate the days post werewolf-den obliteration and cleanup the fallout. (part one of two)  
> 2\. Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Updates on Sunday +/- a few days.

**Aani this chapter is dedicated to you.**

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, a cool breeze wafted over her face as she let out a quiet sigh and two heartbeats fluttered nervously in the back of her mind. It was Arthur and Bill. They were awake and likely getting ready to go to work, hence the nervousness and increased stress levels coming from their tags – but it wasn’t what had woken her. She’d woken up to the smell of burning, images of yellow glowing eyes, terrified brown ones and the blue of the snatcher’s she’d killed on the hillside months ago. It had been a long time since she’d thought of that man, but his eyes had floated up in the mix that swarmed her mind when her occlumency technique began to fail as her mind woke.

It was accompanied by a heavy weighted sadness and the last thing she’d seen before she opened her eyes were Nasir’s piercing ones. It made the rune on her chest weigh heavy as she stared up at the ceiling in the still dark tent. She took another deep breath of fresh cold morning air and tried to convince her mind that the smell of _fiendfyre_ wasn’t real – though she doubted that it would leave her senses any time soon. Neither would the hollow sadness that ached in her chest.

A quick time check let her know that it was 5:30 am and she quickly concluded that Arthur and Bill were up getting ready, removing their memories and trying to calm down before they started their day in just one short hour. The next sixty minutes would dictate the next steps of the war – it would confirm whether or not the Order had been suspected of having any involvement in the attack and if they needed to prepare for a counterattack by Voldemort’s Death Eaters. So far, it seemed that everyone else was asleep, including Harry, who was pressed up against her side and sleeping soundly.

 _He deserves it_ , she thought fondly as her eyes shifted to the mess of black hair beside her. He’d been her rock the night before and he’d picked up the pieces when she’d completely imploded. He’d held her tightly in the cold water, he’d listened to all of her internal turmoil and guilt and he’d been completely nonjudgmental when she told him how she’d felt about Ava. Then he’d forced her to take a break when she refused to listen to her body, he’d been the one to make her go to bed and get the rest that she’d so desperately needed.

After speaking with Arthur, making Nasir’s tombstone and setting up the tent Harry had led her immediately to the bathroom – where they’d both stripped off their clothes, dropping them haphazardly on the floor before jumping in the shower. She’d nearly scrubbed herself raw to try and remove the smell of death and fire that clung to her skin and the blood that stained her hands before finally getting out and putting on her pajamas. She’d been too lazy to _look_ at what clothes she’d grabbed so she’d ended up in Harry’s loose-fitting grey shirt and her own green pajama shorts while he threw on a pair of black sweats. Harry had made her eat a piece of toast (because she couldn’t stomach anything else) and then he’d dragged her to bed and made her take a small sip of dreamless sleep draught.

He’d kept her whole. He’d kept her sane.

Warmth radiated from his body and made the exhaustion that still riddled her bones feel a little less terrible. The shaking in her limbs had stopped, her mind felt clearer than it had before she’d passed out the night before and her emotions were back under control even if she did feel a bit empty. Her meltdown had helped – as much as it had killed her to completely fall apart and walk out of the debrief it was what she’d needed. After everything that had happened the day before she’d been entirely unable to keep it all in and she’d confessed to Harry the root cause of her pain and anguish. Aside from the guilt, she’d felt over being upset with Ava, aside from the sadness that bit into her soul when she thought about Arthur and Remus’ injuries, and Nasir’s death – it had been the loss of her edge in the war that had truly killed her, she’d lost the trump card that she’d yet to play. The fact that she could no longer make a deal to save Harry’s life or make herself more than what she was broke her confidence and her heart.

It hurt.

She let out a quiet breath and carefully slid herself out from under Harry’s arm. Despite her body still feeling worn from the exertion the day before her mind felt awake and she knew that she would not be able to get back to sleep. Not when Arthur and Bill were buzzing like little bees in her mind and her nose burned with the smell of fire from her dream. She wanted to take a second shower. Have tea. Maybe sit and stare at the wall of the tent for a few seconds while she tried to collect herself and prepare for what she knew would be another long and exhausting day. Then she wanted to get reading to see if there was a way to help Ariel. She wanted to take stock of their supplies and make a list of what needed to be replaced.

There were a million things to do and yet despite this she didn’t feel panicked like she had the day before. Her breakdown the night before had taken care of the desperate anxiety and now she was left feeling tired, worn, and sad – but calm. A heaviness lingered in her heart from her dream and left her solemn as she moved her way to the bathroom with a set of fresh clothes. She would shower, force herself to eat, then get down to business because it would help her remain calm and it would, hopefully, relieve some of the deep ache in her chest. Research, planning and working always did – but she would let Harry sleep until he woke on his own. He was just as exhausted as she was, and he needed his rest.

She moved to the bathroom silently, her feet padding softly against the cold floor as her mind monitored the tags in her head. Mrs. Weasley was waking, and Fleur had started to stir. When she reached the bathroom, her nose flooded with the smell of death and fire and she froze, her eyes immediately darted to the pile of muddy, bloody clothes on the floor. She felt her nose crinkling as she glared at them and images of Nasir’s eyes and fire filled her head once more as the rune grew heavier. Her shoulders sagged and she let out a deep low sigh.

“I should just burn these,” she whispered as she placed her clean clothes on the small shelf near the shower and bent to pick up the pile of ruined clothing.

It was unfortunate, Fleur had bought her this jacket and now it was stained and marked, and she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to clean it. She held it up before her and frowned. Perhaps she should at least try to salvage it – it was her only jacket after all. Tracing her fingers over the fabric she adjusted her hold and made to pick up the remaining clothes but instead froze for a second time when her fingers brushed against something firm. Her eyes shot wide and her heart rate skyrocketed as she rapidly tore open the pocket and untethered the book that she had almost entirely forgotten about.

“How could I have forgotten,” her eyes had started to sting as she desperately tugged the book free with shaking hands and enlarged it back to its full size. She felt her face crumple as she pulled the book to her chest and leaned back against the closed bathroom door.

 _It burns_.

She pinched her eyes shut tight and fought to keep a sob at bay as her lungs ached and tears ran down her face. She hadn’t wanted to cry today; she hadn’t wanted to feel this agony for a second time as she crumpled down to the floor and cast a silencing charm on the bathroom so she could let out a ragged breath. But somehow, even though it hurt, and the tears flowed steady like a river – she felt the smallest spark of hope flutter in her chest.

“It’s not over,” she whispered as she pulled the book tighter and drew her knees up to her chest.

They weren’t doomed. Not yet. Nasir hadn’t left her with nothing and so she wouldn’t give up. She’d keep pushing. She’d memorize the entire contents of this book; she’d learn whatever he’d left behind for her and she’d push until her very last breath.

It took all of her willpower to force herself to shower instead of diving immediately into Nasir’s book, so she compromised and rinsed off quickly without washing her hair. Then she threw on her thick fuzzy socks, sweater and worn jeans before gathering her long curls into a messy knot on the top of her head. She moved silently back into the kitchen, glancing at Harry’s sleeping form with a small smile and starting the kettle under a silencing spell with a flick of her wand. It only took her three minutes to make a cup of tea, grab some oatmeal and take a seat at the kitchen table all while her heart raced anxiously in her chest. She fought to keep her hands steady as she carefully laid the book on the worn surface, took a deep breath, and then slowly opened it.

It was a journal, Nasir’s personal journal – but it wasn’t filled with ramblings, stories, or information about his life. At least not directly. While it wasn’t a _diary_ that documented his thoughts or feelings it was a book that documented research, spells, charms, and potions that he’d either developed over the years or learned from someone else. It also included documentation of several modifications and alterations he’d experimented with and implemented on his body – and the majority of it was questionably dark magic.

Each time she turned a page her eyes grew wider, her heart rate increased, and she fought to stay in her seat. She wanted to go wake Harry. She wanted to run over and jump on top of him then shake him awake so she could show him the journal – and the urge to do just that only grew stronger the deeper she read. The journal spanned across decades, it included his research notes, scribbles and trial arithmancy calculations. Sections were crossed out when something didn’t work only for another page to be starred with a note indicating it had been resolved and documenting the final calculation.

And there were dates.

The first entry was marked _November 5 th, 1919_ and based on the neat handwriting Hermione thought it was safe to assume that he must have been _at least_ a teenager at the time, possibly a young adult but definitely no longer a child. This meant that Nasir had been well over 80 years old – yet he’d looked younger than Arthur.

She continued to read through the journal, her tea having long since grown cold and the oatmeal sitting beside her entirely forgotten as she flipped page after page until she reached one entry dated _October 12 th, 1939_ where Nasir had made a note about receiving a silver dagger and he’d documented the counter spell required to heal wounds inflicted by it – _sarciovolnus_. He’d used it on them, she’d seen him do it to heal his own arm too but he hadn’t managed to teach it to them before the den infiltration. At the bottom of the page the date ‘ _November 1 st, 1939 – 9:00 am’ _was scribbled and marked with a star but there were no other notes made.

After this entry the journal jumped, skipping well over an entire year and the next entry did not occur until _January 18 st 1941_. It was an incredibly brief entry and the closet thing to a traditional diary note that she’d come across thus far, the words ‘ _Test was partially successful, five remain. Existing runes still functional – new remain useless. Watch Anna_ ’ were written neatly across the page.

After this date the entries became a bit more infrequent, the experiments more dangerous, more morbid and less detailed until she reached one dated _April 19 th 1944 _– and Hermione paused. Her eyes grew wider, her mouth dropped open and she leaned down closer to look at the finely sketched diagram Nasir had created.

“Oh my god,” the words whispered from her lips.

“Oh my god, what?”

“Shit! Harry!” Hermione jumped in her seat and clutched her chest as she turned to look toward Harry as he made his way over to her. He was lucky she didn’t hex him. “You scared the bloody hell out of me.”

“Sorry, I tried to make noise when I was getting out of bed so I wouldn’t startle you but you were too engrossed in your reading and didn’t hear any of it,” he gave her a somewhat sheepish smile and came to peer over her shoulder. “Is this the book that Nasir left? I almost forgot abou–“

Harry’s voice cut off as he leaned forward more and reached around Hermione’s small frame, his hand gripping her gently and pulling the journal up closer just as she’d done a moment ago. She felt the heat from his bare chest radiating into her as it pressed against her spine. She could feel his breath ghosting along her neck as his heartbeat fluttered more quickly in her head.

“He didn’t,” Harry whispered.

“He did.”

“But how? Is it even possible?”

“His calculations here show that it is, it’s not so much about the wood they use – it’s more about the affinity to the magical core component itself.”

“Yeah – okay,” Harry said slowly, she knew he was skimming Nasir’s notes on the opposite page and working through the calculations and research himself. “So, the wood is just a mechanism to hold it and seems to contribute rather little overall – but did he actually do it? Sure, it works theoretically on paper – but did he really manage to do it is the question.”

“He did.”

“How do you know – did he tell you?”

“No,” Hermione said as she twisted around to look up at Harry. “I _saw_ it – when he cut off his hand I _saw_ it, Harry.”

Harry stared at her for a long quiet moment. She could see the gears turning in his head before he spoke the words that she already knew he was going to say.

“I want to do it.”

She felt a small smile tug at her lips. “We’ll run the arithmancy tonight.”

-x-x-

Hermione bit back a groan as she sat back on her heels. Her muscles were sore and tired from the day before and her mind was beginning to feel very, very _dead_ as the glow of the setting sun shone through the small barn windows. It looked like a blazing fire – which only made her feel more unpleasant. The day had been long and productive with some high points – but it wasn’t ending well. After reheating her oats and eating breakfast with Harry they’d skipped their normal workout routine in favour of taking stock of their potions and ingredients. She’d managed to clean their jackets so that only a faint smell of smoke lingered on them and they were wearable, but the remainder of their clothes from that day were ruined and unsalvageable – so in a ritual that seemed to be becoming all too familiar, they burned them.

They’d discussed Harry’s plan for Arthur, which could be adapted to everyone infected, and then made their way up to the cottage to meet with Fleur – who, with the help of Luna and Ron had taken stock of her own potions and remaining supplies that morning.

They’d spent most of the morning going through each list, documenting the expected incoming supplies from Shacklebolt, discussing food supplies and communicating every few minutes with Arthur and Bill. By 11 am it looked pretty promising that the Order was in the clear. Hermione knew it was largely because not a single person on Voldemort’s side (including the demon himself) would have suspected that the Order was capable of such a large scale and violent operation – yet she still found it surprising that Dolohov or Yaxley didn’t at least stop by to _speak_ to Arthur or Bill. Yes, they’d had decoys the day before and yes, they’d made themselves present to create a valid alibi but she couldn’t help but feel both surprised and nervous that they weren’t approached at all.

She kept most of her comments to herself as they worked, but she did whisper to Harry that it was something they should continue to monitor. It left a strange taste in her mouth that they would get off scot-free and it made her wonder if something else was going on. Either Voldemort and his followers were planning a return attack and didn’t want to give it away, or, and perhaps even more nerve-wracking – they suspected someone else entirely. Which made her cringe at the thought of someone innocent paying the price for their actions. Unless of course the obliteration of the den was blamed on someone internal to his organization – in which case, it made her feel rather self-satisfied.

They ate a late lunch at the cottage and awkwardly accepted Dean’s uncomfortable apology. The boy had come into the room while they were eating, moving nervously and skittishly like a mouse before he finally sat down at the table and apologized for abandoning them the day before when they’d dragged an infected Arthur, a half-dead Remus and a dazed injured muggle into the cottage. His hands twisted nervously, and he stared at his plate while he spoke, saying that he’d ‘ _seen some things at the Manor_ ’ and that he’d not been able to handle it. He didn’t go into any more detail than that but the sad expression on Fleur’s face hinted that she might know more. Hermione and Harry both brushed it off and told him he was welcome to join them for training in the evenings – where they could teach him some occlumency skills that might help. This made a faint smile brush across his lips and he nodded before silently digging into his food.

Hermione had watched him as he ate – or better worded ‘picked at his food’. He was still skinny, he clearly struggled with eating and the dark rings under his eyes suggested that he’d not been sleeping well. Out of the four people that Harry had rescued from the Manor he seemed to be recovering the worst. Luna’s gaunt face had filled out, her hair no longer looked dull and her calm but bubbly personality was starting to shine through once more. She’d spoken a lot about Ava and Charlie during lunch, who were both upstairs in her room putting together a puzzle. The blonde seemed rather taken with them and was already flourishing under the responsibility of taking care of them and helping them adapt to their new life. It had gone without saying that the muggle pair were likely upstairs because they were sifting through potion ingredients that could kill a small child if he accidentally grabbed and ate something. Not to mention that Hermione was in the cottage and Luna was probably trying to give her space.

She’d bit back a sigh at the time. It was just yet another thing that she needed to deal with later. She needed to speak to Ava and apologize for walking out so abruptly after the woman had hugged her the night before – it was hardly the politest thing she’d ever done and she didn’t doubt that Ava had heard her whisper ‘ _I can’t be here_ ’. She just hoped the woman understood it wasn’t anything personal. That she wasn’t upset with _her_ she’d just been upset with everything. She’d been overwhelmed and unable to process anything else.

Once lunch was done Hermione had apparated to the werewolf safehouse with Harry and Fleur. They’d left Ron and Luna to put the potion ingredients away and to review through a copy of the final combined list of ingredients and tasked them to develop a plan which maximized the potions that they could brew based on what they had. Hermione planned to review what they came up with the next day so that they could get started on brewing as soon as possible. With what happened to Peter, Voldemort now had control of the apothecary market and things were about to get even more challenging as ingredient shortages became the norm. They would need to be very careful about what they brewed and what they used from here on out.

Food was also going to become an issue and a risk. They had five additional mouths to feed and Mrs. Weasley and Fleur couldn’t exactly go to the store and purchase the large quantities of supplies that they would require. They knew that even if the Order members didn’t get approached about the den they were still being watched. So, they knew they would need to develop a plan for collecting more food – which would likely include making several nighttime runs while shielded. Hermione and Harry had both already agreed that morning they should be the ones to do it as they were the best equipped to do so. Which, unfortunately, was just one more additional risk they would need to take on – yet it seemed like there were no other viable options. They couldn’t just let the group starve and they refused to get into rationing until it was absolutely necessary because it would only hurt them in the long run.

What good was an exhausted and malnourished army?

Especially when their ‘ _army’_ was a fraction of the size of Voldemort’s and still severely untrained and ill-equipped to deal with the harsh realities of war. The Order was only _just_ coming around on the idea of using force and making counter moves – Hermione and Harry were not about to let their health decline and they refused to let Arthur or Remus complete the run. Not after what happened at the den. Not until they’d gotten more training in.

Thus, during lunch Hermione and Harry had revealed their idea of completing a food run Wednesday night by going to a large muggle bulk store warehouse in Northern England. They figured it would be relatively safe since they doubted that Voldemort and his followers were even aware that such a thing existed. The plan – as discussed over lunch and developed based on the food that Fleur currently had and what Mrs. Weasley had communicated she could get away with buying on a weekly basis per her usual routine – was to stock up on dry foods like rice, beans, flour, nuts, and other canned goods. If all went well, they should be able to get enough stock to feed the entire group for over a month in one run.

And shockingly – it had been Ron’s suggestion that brought the plan together and made the large scale operation possible. Hermione, Harry and Fleur had been debating the logistics of transporting large amounts of food. Yes, Hermione’s purse was incredible and could technically fit everything that they needed, but it took a wasteful amount of time and energy to fill it and every minute they spent at the warehouse was another minute open to attack or being caught. Ron had piped up when they’d started debating making multiple trips saying ‘ _why not use the port keys? Isn’t that what Lupin and my dad did? Dad said during the debrief he tethered the muggles’ hands to the key, could you tether the food together to a port key?_ ’

They’d gone silent after he spoke, all of them turning to look at the redhead in surprise. She’d watched as a blush crept across his face and he looked down at the plate before him awkwardly. He must have thought it was a stupid idea because he’d quickly followed up with ‘ _sorry, that’s probably stupid – I just thought it might work‘._

‘ _It’s not stupid_ ,’ Harry had said quietly while Hermione had nodded, and Fleur and Luna smiled.

And that was how they came up with their new plan. They would use the port keys Shacklebolt had made to ship food to the werewolf safehouse. They would tether huge pallets of food to the keys and ship everything in one go to the barn where the Order members would be waiting to unpack and properly preserve and store the food as it showed up.

On the walk up to the barn that afternoon Fleur noted that the goblin could now walk on his own and that Mr. Ollivander, while still weak, was mostly just limited by his age at this point and had recovered well. She’d said that Dean was having night terrors, he wouldn’t talk much about what happened at the Manor, but she knew that he’d seen several people die. She’d also noted that oddly, Dean seemed convinced that if not for Narcissa Malfoy – he would have died within the first month of being taken captive. He wouldn’t say much about why he thought this, but Luna had apparently mentioned something similarly odd – which had left Hermione and Harry with (yet again) another strange piece of information to add to the massive pile they already had.

Fleur had seemed a little skeptical that Narcissa would’ve helped Dean or Luna and she seemed concerned about the long-term psychological effects of their capture. Hermione didn’t say anything to Fleur about how Narcissa had her wand at some point, or how it’d gone to Snape then to Nasir. She and Harry simply nodded at the information and changed the topic. It was confusing to say the least, but yet Hermione believed Dean and Luna. For as much as it didn’t make any sense – the woman had saved her life too. Nasir had confirmed it when he’d examined her arm, without the potion she’d given her during her torture her heart would have given out and she would have died on the parlour floor.

It wasn’t a question of _if_ Narcissa had helped them – it was a question of _why_.

But she’d pushed the thoughts from her mind as they’d entered the barn and got to work. They’d arrived half an hour before the muggles woke up from their dreamless sleep and things almost immediately went downhill.

Colin still didn’t trust them, which if Hermione was being fair seemed entirely reasonable. Liza seemed to trust them a bit more now that they were not covered in blood and mud, but the girl still mostly wanted to speak to Fleur – who quickly decided to go on a walk with Liza outside in the fenced-in and secured area. It had proved to be a good idea, because it meant that Liza was not present when Colin had a meltdown. The man had thankfully eaten some food, but he was getting anxious for an update on his family. In the end Harry’d had to douse him with another round of dreamless sleep potion because his panic grew out of control because they didn’t have any answers for him – Shacklebolt had enlisted the help of Thomas from the Ministry to check into their family situations and so far, there’d been no update.

Initially Ariel had been in too much pain to do much else but groan in agony and beg for death. It had taken them the entire afternoon to work their way across her body from head to toe transfiguring her bones and correcting them into their normal human shape – all while referencing a biology textbook and trying to keep the woman calm. It had been quite the ordeal, Hermione’s purse was strewn open on the barn floor, both of them had kneeled by her side surrounded by different potions, muggle pain pills and reference books as they worked.

Then Hermione had performed _obliviation_ and removed the worst memories from her mind – but it seemed to do little. She’d accepted the information that they told her, mostly because it seemed like she truly didn’t care, and she’d refused the food they offered. She’d spoken a little bit afterwards and asked a few questions but ultimately, she just started to collapse in on herself – hence the heavy suppressed groan Hermione made as she sat back on her heels then forced herself to stand as she stared at the woman sadly.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered as her eyes shifted to her dark-haired partner by her side. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Ariel was sitting on her cot, bare feet flat on the cold wooden floor, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her eyes blank as she stared at her bruised and scarred hands. Even with the memories removed it was like her mind seemed to reject the false peace. It was like her body _knew_ there was something wrong, that _she’d_ done something wrong and it was rejecting the magic in the same way that Rose’s body had in the alley. The swelling around where the bones had been misshaped refused to go down, dittany was barely keeping her cuts held together, deep purple bruising spotted her body, and the muggle medications they’d plied her with were doing very little to ease the pain as a fever began to grow in her body.

“I don’t want to be here,” Ariel’s words fell like a whisper as tears started to fill her eyes. She lifted her head to look up at them, pain radiating across her face as her cheeks began to flush with the heat of her rising temperature. “Please just put me back to sleep – please don’t let me wake up.”

“Ariel,” Hermione said softly as she knelt back down before the woman and carefully took her trembling hands. “There is still a future for you – we can help you and we’ll keep working to find ways to lessen the pain. I know it isn’t wha–“

“ _Please_ ,” Ariel cut her off as her face crumpled and her voice dropped to a broken whisper. “There’s nothing left for me – he was my only family and he’s gone now. I-I don’t want to live like this. I’m not stupid – I _know_ I’m dying. I can feel it – it’s not right. Somethings not right and you’ve _already_ told me that the most I would have are a few months at best. What kind of a _life_ is that?”

Hermione felt her shoulders fall as her jaw clenched. Upon glimpsing Ariel’s memories while obliviating them she’d realized that the woman’s fiancé was killed during her abduction. After altering her memories Ariel had wept for him, she’d said that she had no other family, she’d asked how long she had to live, and Hermione had answered honestly – ‘ _two months, four at best’_.

Maybe it was a mistake – but she could not bring herself to lie to these people.

Not after what they’d been through, not knowing what their life would be going forward. So – she, Fleur and Harry had told each of them the truth to any questions that they asked, even if it was hard to bear. They’d tried to be delicate but there wasn’t exactly a great way to tell someone that they were dying because their body was rejecting magic, that there was a whole other world in existence behind the scenes that they never knew existed and that within that _magical_ world there was a war going on between decent people and people capable of some very terrible things.

Colin seemed to struggle the hardest to accept the news and he’d only grown more upset with them. Liza was handling the news of magic the best out of all of them, because she was a kid and thought it was ‘ _super_ _cool’_ just like in the movies – but she was also a bit nervous and wanted her parents. Considering all things Ariel had handled the news fairly well but it was mostly because she seemed to have given up entirely. Hermione could see it in her eyes.

They were dull.

Borderline lifeless.

Which made saving her even more difficult. It was hard to force a body to heal when it belonged to a person who fundamentally _wanted_ to die. Hermione swallowed hard. She already knew exactly how this was going to end but she wanted to give saving Ariel her best effort – for Arthur’s sake.

“Ariel, there is a chance that I could be wrong,” Hermione said slowly as the woman’s body seemed to curl inwards even more. “We might find another cure – what you’re asking for is permanent. There is still a chance that we could fix this, if you give up now–“

“I’m _not_ giving up,” Ariel whispered. Fresh tears began to slide down her face, anger laced her voice as she ripped her hands away from Hermione and grimaced in pain. “I’m _accepting_ my fate – it’s not the same thing. It hurts, _everything_ hurts – my _mind_ hurts and I _don’t_ want to die slowly over the next few months while you both prod me with your – your _wands_ or whatever you call them. I’m not a _science experiment_ and I don’t want to live four months in a fucking barn while you _try to help_ so you can feel better about yourselves – about what _you people_ did while I die in pain! So _please_ – please, at least give me this. Please let me have a say in my final moments.”

Hermione felt the runes on her chest grow heavy as she looked at the woman. Ariel looked terrible. Not only did Hermione _know_ that the woman was dying in agony from the diagnostic that floated above her head – she looked it. The deep purple bruises only seemed to want to grow darker, the rings under her eyes were worse than Dean’s and even her heart rate was slow.

“How about this,” Harry had knelt down beside Hermione and was looking toward Ariel seriously. “We’ll wait until tomorrow – let’s see if the pills that Hermione gave you bring down your fever. Tonight we’ll do some more research while you’re sleeping to see if there is anything we might have missed and by tomorrow – if things haven’t improved and you’re still set on ending things – then we’ll give you what you want.”

Ariel’s dull eyes shifted to Harry; she was watching him closely – sadly.

“It’s not like I can do anything other than what _you_ want anyways,” she whispered brokenly. “I saw what you people are capable of. It doesn’t matter what I ask for – what I _beg_ for – you’ll do whatever you want anyways. I don’t see how you think you’re any different from the ones that took me in the first place.”

Hermione felt Harry stiffen beside her and she knew that the woman’s words had hit him hard.

“Tomorrow,” he said in a low and even tone. “If nothing has changed, I’ll kill you tomorrow. I promise it won’t hurt.”

With that he summoned a bottle of dreamless sleeping draught from the floor, uncorked the bottle and held it out to her.

“This will keep you asleep and without pain until noon.”

The broken defeat and anguish on Ariel’s face was hard to bear.

“As I said,” the woman reached forward, grimacing in pain as she took the potion from Harry and downed it in one big gulp. She radiated defeat as she locked him with a dead stare. “You’ll do whatever you want anyways.”

Hermione stood up to catch the woman as her eyes fluttered shut and her body slouched forward. Harry helped her lay Ariel back down on her cot, tethering her in place before turning to give each other an exhausted look.

“Harry if nothing changes tomorrow I-“

“I’ll do it,” Harry said flatly as he began cleaning up their supplies and carefully putting them in the purse.

“Harry,” Hermione said slowly. “You don-“

“And neither do you,” Harry cut her off sharply, turning to give her a firm look before his eyes softened and he let out an exhausted sigh. He ran a hand over his face tiredly and his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just tired – but you don’t always need to shoulder _everything_ Hermione. You’ve taken _more_ than your fair share of this war. I’ll take this one.”

“But-“

“But what?” Harry dropped the open purse on the edge of the cot and moved towards her, his hands finding her hips easily as he pulled her closer to his chest. “What reason could you possibly have for why _you_ should do this?”

“Because it’s a weight Harry,” Hermione said quietly as she twisted her hands into the front of his sweater and looked up at him. “And I don’t _want_ you to have to bear it.”

“And how do you think **_I_ **feel,” he whispered, and she saw something painful shift behind his eyes. “Hermione – _you_ killed Rose, _you_ were the one tortured, _you_ were the one attacked, _you_ were the one who had to complete all the obliviations on the muggles yesterday – how do you think that makes me feel to know that _you’ve_ been carrying the brunt of everything thus far? It’s not a competition to see who can bear more Hermione. I _know_ that you’re strong. I _know_ that you _can_ take it and I know that the burden might never be equal because I don’t have the same skill as you. I can’t complete obliviations – so I understand why _you_ had to do them, though I’m going to change that and I’m going to learn – but _this_ is something that I _can_ do. So I _will_ do it. We’re supposed to be a _team_ Hermione, you don’t need to shoulder this all on your own.”

Hermione let out a sigh and dropped her forehead against his chest. She hated the idea of Harry carrying around the weight of an innocent life on his conscience. Casting _Avada Kedavra_ , while she’d since established would not actually shatter your soul – still weighed heavy like a burn against your heart. It still left a dark emptiness inside you and she didn’t want him to have to bear that. Yet the logical part of her brain knew that he wasn’t wrong. There was no true _reason_ why he _shouldn’t_ do it other than she just didn’t want to him. It was an emotional response that she simply could not help because she loved him and wanted to spare him – which meant that she also intuitively understood how he felt.

He’d had to watch her suffer a lot since September – arguably disproportionately to how much she’d seen him suffer in the last eight months. So as much as she understood how he felt she really couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for him to watch on the sidelines because if she thought about having to watch him go through the same things it made her sick to her stomach. She tightened her grip on his sweater and he wrapped his arms around her to pull her tight. There was no sense in arguing with him because she didn’t have a _valid_ reason and she already knew that he wouldn’t accept any excuses she tried to give him.

“Fine,” she sighed into his chest and felt his fingers dig into her sweater in response. “What are we going to tell Arthur?”

“The truth,” he said quietly as she shifted to look up at him once more. “We’ve done everything we can, we’ll look at it again tonight and monitor her vitals through the charm. If there is no change by tomorrow, then we’ll grant her a peaceful death – we’ll tell Arthur just that.”

“He’s not going to like it.”

“I know.”

“He’ll want to keep trying.”

“I know.”

“Should we keep trying?”

“Maybe, but eventually we’ll be doing exactly what she said – keeping her alive for the sake of making ourselves feel better while she suffers.”

“I know,” Hermione sighed. She felt the exhaustion from the day settle in her spine as she looked up at him. He looked weary like her but still determined, still so very _Harry_ despite everything that life seemed to throw at them. She gave him a small smile. “I love you Harry.”

“I love you,” his grip on her tightened before they heard the door to the barn open and they both slowly stepped apart, looking to their left as Fleur and Liza came back inside.

“We picked flowers!” Liza was holding up a bouquet of what looked to be mostly weeds. The majority of them weren’t even fully bloomed as it was still April and the weather had yet to level out or allow anything to start growing. But the girl seemed happy and calm – even further improved from how she’d been when she’d first woken up, so Hermione let a smile shift across her face.

“Those are lovely,” Harry said warmly from beside her, his hand still wrapped around her waist as a grin split across his face. Liza looked between the two of them curiously, from the small amount of time Hermione had spent with the girl she seemed clever and keen on details.

“Zey are, aren’t zey?” Fleur grinned and she made her way across the barn holding what looked like a collection of picked herbs. “I took Liza to ze garden at ze back of ze paddock. Not much is ready yet – but zere were a few items growing.”

“It sounds like you two had fun,” Hermione smiled.

“It was fun! Did you know that there is something called a _warming_ charm and it keeps you warm!” Liza was waving the ‘ _flowers’_ around as she spoke animatedly, and Hermione actually had to fight to keep a straight face as she watched the wonder unfold across the girl’s expression. They must have had a great time out there because Liza was practically exploding with excitement. “I didn’t get cold at all! We could have stayed out there forever! Fleur said it even works in the snow – and Fleur also said that I don’t have to go back to sleep now. She said I can come with you to the cottage for dinner!”

“Oh,” Hermione said as she arched a brow at Fleur in question and Fleur simply grinned wider. “She did, did she?”

“Yes – Liza and I ‘ad a very good chat, didn’t we?” Fleur affectionately ruffled the girl’s short black locks as she nodded. She was so naturally charming and so naturally caring that Hermione couldn’t help but think that someday the woman would make an excellent mother. “Now zat ‘er bruising is all ‘ealed and ‘er diagnostic looked good, I figured she might want to meet ze others – see who we are, get to know us a little yes?”

“Yes,” Liza grinned up at Fleur. “Fleur says there are more magical people there like you and that you’re trying to find my parents – so, I thought that maybe I could help? That maybe I could tell your magic policeman more about where I live and what my parents look like. Plus, I’d like to maybe see some more people.”

Hermione watched as Liza looked around the barn and her eyes landed on the sleeping forms of Ariel and Colin. The girl’s expression grew tighter as she stared at the two and Hermione felt her chest constrict as Harry gripped her side harder. She knew what Fleur was doing – she wanted to build trust with the girl and she clearly understood that keeping her here with the others was not going to help any. It wasn’t like they could keep the muggles drugged up and sleeping forever – they had to integrate them into the wizarding world in some way eventually. So even though she and Fleur both knew that the girl’s parents were likely already dead, they could at least allow her to feel welcomed. They could include her, make her feel like she mattered and like she might be able to help or had a role to play.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Hermione said as brightly as she could and thankfully it brought Liza’s attention back to them. “I know everyone there will be excited to meet you and we could use your help. Did Fleur tell you how we’re going to get there?”

“Yes appa – appary–“ Liza hesitated and looked back to Fleur.

“Apparition,” Fleur said without missing a beat.

“Yeah that,” Liza smiled nervously and clutched the flowers to her chest. “She said it is unpleasant though.”

“It is,” Harry crinkled his nose in a funny way and Liza gave him a shy smile. “It sort of feels like being pushed through a hose after riding a carousel too many times.”

Liza’s face faltered. “That sounds awful.”

“You get used to it,” Fleur smiled at the girl. “But if you like for ze first time you can sleep through it?”

The girl hesitated, her eyes darting between Fleur and them again.

“I don’t want to sleep like that again,” she said quietly, and Hermione made note of the way her fingers twisted nervously around the bouquet once more. “It makes me feel lonely. It feels fake and I don’t like it.”

“Zen you do not ‘ave to,” Fleur gave the girl a reassuring look. “But you might feel a bit – seasick after. If you do get sick zats okay, most people do their first time and we can give you something to settle your stomach when we get zere – is zat okay?”

“Yeah,” Liza nodded before her eyes shifted back to the cots. “Are – are they not coming to dinner?”

“No,” Hermione said gently with a forced smile. “Ariel isn’t feeling well enough yet and Colin had a bad headache and asked to sleep it off. But if they’re feeling better tomorrow they will join us for dinner then.”

“Okay,” Liza accepted the answer, but Hermione did not miss her nervous glance at the two sleeping figures once more.

Fleur had been right in her decisions outside. The barn was a perfectly acceptable place to stay when transforming, it was nice enough, cozy and had everything that they needed. But it was no place to _leave_ a twelve-year-old. She would do better at the cottage with the others. Heck they should probably consider leaving her with Luna for a day to let the witch work her own unique magic – since Luna seemed to have a talent for making people feel loved and accepted.

Fleur took Liza back outside while Hermione and Harry set the wards, monitors and finished cleaning up the barn. It only took them a few short minutes and then they joined the girls outside in the paddock where Fleur was currently clutching both bouquets.

“Everyone ready?” Hermione asked as she came to a stop before them. It was almost 5 pm and she knew that Mrs. Weasley was likely already at the cottage cooking up a meal for anyone who decided to come for dinner. People would show up at varying times, but all of them would be there by 7 pm for training unless something major happened that prevented them from coming.

“We’re ready. I thought it might be best if you tether Liza’s hand to yours for ze first time,” Fleur said as Liza nodded nervously. “I will carry ze flowers for now.”

“Good idea,” Hermione outstretched her hand to the girl and tethered them together once Liza had taken hold. The girl’s eyes widened when the spell was cast, and Hermione paused and looked at her curiously. “Did you feel that?”

“Yeah,” Liza’s wide eyes looked up to her. “Is that weird? Should I not have felt it?”

“Not necessarily,” Hermione said as she considered the girl. “Typically muggles don’t notice magic but it isn’t impossible to think that some of them do, or that they might have different levels of awareness toward it – we should see what else you notice this week.”

“Okay,” Liza gave her a nervous smile.

“Alright,” Harry said as he grabbed Hermione’s other hand and reached out to Fleur. “Take a deep breath Liza and remember to keep breathing okay? It will only take a second then it will be over, and we can all go enjoy some of Mrs. Weasley’s cooking.”

The girl nodded and clenched her jaw, Hermione counted backwards from three and then Harry apparated them all to the cottage. They landed on the beach just a few feet from the door with a small crack. Liza nearly toppled over, her hand immediately went to her stomach and her face twisted with nausea – but shockingly she didn’t throw up, nor had the tether really been necessary since the girl was gripping Hermione’s hand so tightly, she was sure it would leave a bruise.

“Are you okay Liza?” Fleur was already moving before the girl and looking her over.

Liza nodded, taking deep long breaths as she stared at a single point on the ground until she finally stopped swaying and then looked up to take in her surroundings. Her eyes went wide and once again awe flashed across her face as her grip on her stomach fell away.

“How far did we go?” Liza asked breathlessly as she twisted to look at the dunes behind her, then back to the ocean and then to the small cottage. She’d still not let go of Hermione’s hand when her eyes shot back to Fleur. “Did you do that?”

Fleur laughed. “We went almost across ze country. ‘Arry did it zis time, because he is better at moving multiple people, but I can also apparate.”

“Wow,” Liza breathed out as the tension in her face started to lessen. “This is amazing.”

“Do you want to go inside?” Fleur quirked a brow.

“Yeah,” Liza nodded and then seemed to realize that she was still clutching Hermione’s hand. A small blush crept across her face as she awkwardly let go and looked up toward her, though she was almost as tall as Hermione. “Sorry – thank you for not letting me fall over.”

“No problem,” Hermione gave her what she hoped was a friendly smile and stepped away to give the girl some space. “You did great for your first apparition.”

“Alright,” Fleur grinned, placed a gentle hand on Liza’s shoulder and handed her back her bouquet of _flowers_. “Let’s go inside and you can meet everyone.”

Hermione had been right, Mrs. Weasley was already there, and she was cooking up a storm. Yet what she hadn’t planned for was walking into a kitchen bustling with people.

Ron was at the counter preparing a salad, Ava was setting plates and cutlery out on the table, Charlie was sitting in a highchair laughing as Luna floated magical bubbles around his head, and Dean was placing a bowl of buns on the table. The only two people not in the room were Griphook, which made sense because Fleur said he preferred to be alone, and Mr. Ollivander who Fleur had said was still too frail for more than a few visitors at a time and typically fell asleep after 4 pm. But everyone else was there and it looked like they were having _fun._ Chatter filled the room, it was busy, vibrant – _alive_ , and even though Hermione felt herself instinctively tense she couldn’t help but smile.

When they stepped through the door and into the cottage they were greeted with a warmth that Hermione had not experienced in what felt like ages. It was such a stark difference to how she and Harry had been living for the past few months it was almost overwhelming, yet she felt the weight from the rune on her chest lessen as Luna smiled at them and Charlie waved. Mrs. Weasley gave them a polite and warm nod from a decent distance, sticking true to her word of giving them space. Then she excitedly welcomed Liza and praised the beautiful collection of flowers that she’d brought – she’d summoned a vase and placed them right in the middle of the table as Liza blushed under her praise. The woman’s warm motherly nature made the small amount of tension in Liza’s shoulders relax as Fleur brought her around the room and introduced her to everyone. The girl’s face was bright, her eyes shone as she took in the sight of a knife magically cutting the roast that Mrs. Weasley had been working on, the bubbles around Charlie’s head and the way that Ron was floating salad bowls from the cupboard to Ava – who picked them out of the air with her single hand and placed them by each plate on the table.

Ron could have just floated them into place himself – but he was choosing to engage Ava and make her feel like she could be a part of this world. Whether he understood how significant his actions were or if he’d done it on purpose or under Luna’s direction she wasn’t sure, but either way it mattered.

He was doing exactly what they all needed to do if they wanted the muggles to feel welcomed. It was so easy for witches and wizards to use magic for _everything_ , which was fine if you were surrounded by nothing but witches or wizards. But when muggles got involved it became more complicated and it could make them feel lesser or left out. She’d learned that the hard way. She’d biologically turned seventeen before her 17th birthday due to her use of the time turner in third year – so she’d used magic at home the summer before sixth year and her parents had, for the most part, _hated_ it. 

They weren’t enamoured with magic the way that a young kid was because it looked cool. They’d hated feeling like their efforts no longer mattered, they’d hated feeling like there was no point to doing anything because their witch of a daughter could just do it faster or better with the flick of a wand. They’d hated it because it had made them feel like they couldn’t contribute and like they didn’t belong in their own home.

It had been a rather large point of contention in their already stressful and strained relationship, so she’d stopped using magic at home altogether unless she was in the privacy of her own bedroom.

She’d have to tell him that what he was doing mattered. She’d have to tell them all so that this sort of behaviour continued and they didn’t accidentally slip back into the habit of just flicking their wands for every little thing – because the smile on Ava’s face as she plucked each bowl from the air and made her way around the table was proof that inclusion was important. Especially when trying to build trust and establish a new life for these people who literally had no one else to turn to.

This was balanced.

This was warm.

This was welcoming.

It made her feel like they weren’t so alone.

She felt Harry’s arm wrap around her waist as he shifted closer, his warmth radiating into her side like hope as they both watched the commotion ensue.

“ _This_ is what we’re trying to save,” Harry’s low whisper echoed by her ear and made a shiver run down her spine.

“I think we’re going to be okay,” she whispered back as she felt a tightness stretch across her chest – but this time it wasn’t from pain. It was warm and deep and made her heart throb with a long-forgotten sense of community.

(to be continued…. momentarily)

-x-x-

I love you all. Thanks for being so supportive of my weekend off! I managed to get lots done and it was a most excellent break :) Hopefully this chapter was good enough to make up for not having one last week – it got too long so I split it into two… 18k seemed a bit much for one chappy and this sort of breaks it up a bit nicer.

Come chat if you want to: https://discord.gg/DGz2s7

Also, are AMAs a thing? Do people do them? They seem to be a thing on discord. Is that a thing you’d want to do? I don’t think I have anything interesting to say and I hope you all know that you can always just ask me whatever either here in the comments or in the cord :) [though on occasion I may evade giving you an answer :P]

<3 Tori


	54. Chapter Fifty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Order deals with the fallout of the werewolf den mission and Harry shoulders the painful burden of Ariel. Hermione acknowledges her issues, and is hopeful that she will learn to be more comfortable around the Order as time goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Today we spend time with Hermione and Harry as they continue to navigate the days post werewolf-den obliteration and cleanup the fallout. (Part two of two)  
> 2\. Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Updates on Sundays +/- a few days. Things are crazy right now but I’m still trying for weekly.

**Warnings:**

This chapter contains: explicit smut (which can be skipped without missing out on main plot)

******************************************

**Aani this chapter is dedicated to you.**

Dinner had proven to be a rather interesting experience.

Everyone ate and talked and behaved like they weren’t in the middle of a war – it was like Mrs. Weasley was trying to inject some sort of normalcy into their lives by making everyone sit down around the expanded table and just be _people_. And it seemed like everyone had needed it after the horrors of the previous day.

Bill showed up just as everyone sat down and Fleur introduced him to Liza. Arthur showed up partway through, smiling warmly at the sight of everyone in the room, greeting Liza and then taking a seat by his wife before digging in. The twins showed up halfway through and Liza was completely besotted with them – though Hermione suspected that had something to do with the fact that they kept showing her neat magic tricks, changing the colour of the flowers on the table and floating food to her plate any time she asked someone to pass her something. She ended up asking for just about anything on the table just so that Fred or George could send it her way or make it loop in the air.

Remus showed up towards the end and caved to Mrs. Weasley’s badgering and took a plate of food. Ava immediately struck up a conversation with him and Liza was excited to find out that Remus was the werewolf that Fleur had told her about outside. She was thrilled when she found out that Ava was now one too and that Arthur was as well – the fact that she wasn’t alone and that these people who were just like her were so clearly loved and welcomed only made her smile grow wider as she asked Remus how long he’d been a werewolf. His response of ‘ _since I was four_ ’ only seemed to make her even more optimistic and even Ava smiled at that.

After dinner everyone helped clean up, Shacklebolt arrived and Fleur introduced him to Liza – and everyone in the room fought to keep their faces encouraged as Liza carefully described her parents’ appearances to the man in detail. She gave him her home address and even told him where he could find a recent family picture. She also told him where her grandmother and aunt Alice lived since they were her closest relatives. Shacklebolt, who’d told the girl he worked for the magical version of the police, had carefully written down every detail that she gave him on a piece of paper. It was a bit heart wrenching to watch but the man kept his face serious yet pleasant and even shook Liza’s hand before Ava brought the girl upstairs with Charlie to play a game.

Harry then silenced the room and split the remaining group into two so they could train. They focused mostly on the shield charm, then started into tethers – teaching those who hadn’t already learned them how to cast and use them. They closed with half an hour of meditation as an occlumency drill. It had been an odd sight to see over a dozen people sitting in various positions on the floor throughout the cottage with their eyes closed in complete silence, but it seemed to be a great way to end the training as everyone was very calm when the timer went off.

Afterwards, Luna dragged Dean upstairs to see how Ava and Liza were doing and the twins went back home so that the rest of the Order members could sit down around the table for an update meeting. Shacklebolt told them that Thomas had no luck finding Liza’s or Colin’s family – without finding the bodies it was impossible to say with certainty that they were dead, but all signs indicated that was the case. He’d already located the grandmother and aunt that Liza had mentioned and confirmed that there was a current missing persons case open for the family because their car had been found abandoned. It was unfortunate and they’d need to decide what they were going to do about it. Fleur had nodded solemnly and said that she would deliver the news to Liza – but they all agreed to wait another day or two so that Shacklebolt could pretend to use the information that the girl had given him.

They didn’t want to draw things out and get her hopes up but they also did not want to dump it on her on her first day at the cottage.

Arthur and Bill summarized the events of their day – both of which had proven to be incredibly normal and uneventful with no indication that the Death Eaters were suspicious. Harry and Hermione gave an update on the muggles and watched Arthur’s face shift into a grimace when they spoke about Ariel. As expected, the man did not like the idea of giving up on the woman but based on the diagnostic information that they presented Shacklebolt had nodded in agreement and given them the green light to proceed ‘ _as they saw fit’_. Which had resulted in Arthur looking particularly sullen.

Shacklebolt indicated that they’d been able to get some supplies from Peter’s storehouses before the Death Eaters got there and that they’d be delivered the following night. Harry and Hermione outlined their plan for completing a large supply run Wednesday night. They ended up tasking Mrs. Weasley with finalizing the list of goods required and agreed that going forward the primary focus would be restocking potions and training.

When the meeting finally ended it was late. Fleur transfigured a bed for Liza and Hermione added an unlocked tether to her, like Ava’s – giving her enough length to leave the cottage and walk around outside but not enough to leave the grounds. The girl seemed excited that she could feel the magic as it was cast and she was also thrilled that she was going to be staying at the cottage in Luna, Charlie and Ava’s room. The latter of which Hermione approached slowly before going back downstairs to meet Harry.

“Ava,” Hermione said quietly as she moved toward the woman.

“Yes?” Ava was cleaning up the puzzle they’d completed that night but her hand froze over the pieces as her eyes shifted to Hermione.

“I just wanted to apologize for my behavi-“

“Don’t,” Ava cut her off firmly, shaking her head as something sad shifted across her eyes. “Please don’t apologize – not ever. I shouldn’t have bombarded you like that. You don’t even know me, and I practically jumped you and put you under stress. Luna told me afterwards that you and Harry are struggling a bit with being around other people because you two have been alone for so long dealing with everything. I shouldn’t have rushed you like that.”

“No – no it’s okay,” Hermione shook her head and started to pick up some of the pieces from the table and placed them in the box. Luna’s justification for her behaviour was partially true, but it wasn’t the full truth and even though she didn’t fully understand why she wanted to clear the air she felt determined to do it even if it was uncomfortable. “I mean – yes, we are struggling but it’s okay. It’s something that we need to work on and it’s something that we’ll probably always struggle with but that wasn’t why I left yesterday. It was just–“

Hermione hesitated as she turned a black and red puzzle piece over in her hand and then looked back up to Ava. The woman was standing across the small table from her and watching her carefully. Quietly. Waiting for her to continue at her own pace. For a woman who had been through hell she seemed so bloody put together it was mind-boggling. Hermione wondered if it was because she had a child – because she _had_ to be put together and steady like a rock, for his sake. Yet the open honesty on her face felt like a breath of painful hope and it was exactly why Hermione struggled with the woman. She was so blatantly compassionate and understanding that it made all the feelings Hermione buried deep down stir up to the surface.

As much as she hated it and as much as it made her uncomfortable, she knew that if she continued to push _everything_ down she would only end up breaking again in another dramatic implosion – and she couldn’t afford for that to keep happening. So, she forced herself to continue and speak the truth.

“It was just a long day,” Hermione said quietly, and she felt her shoulders sag. Fleur and Luna were bustling to rearrange the room behind her and politely pretending not to be listening. “It was a hard day – Nasir was – he was important to me. _Everyone_ here is important to me and doing what we did yesterday wasn’t easy. Not just physically in the den to get everyone out but emotionally. I – I’ve shut down a lot compared to how I was before, and I had to shut down even more yesterday just to get through it.

“When you saw me last night – I’d bottled up too much,” Hermione let out a breath, tossing the puzzle piece in the box and glancing to see that Fleur and Luna were now silently watching her. “Despite how it probably looks at times I’m not a robot and I’m not _entirely_ heartless. Yesterday I was struggling to keep myself together and do what we needed to do. I couldn’t handle _feeling_ anything else. I didn’t leave because you did anything wrong by coming over – I left because I didn’t want to break in front of anyone and I needed to be alone. I don’t want you or anyone else to think that they need to avoid me like the plague because I don’t handle being around people well – it’s a broken part of me that I want to fix, and yes, it’s hard – but I don’t want to stop trying. I need a slower approach until I adjust better – but still, it’s important to me that you know that wasn’t why I left. It was just bad timing and I was pretty much the equivalent to a ticking time bomb.”

“I understand,” Ava nodded, and a small but sad smile crept across her lips. She looked at Hermione for a long quiet minute before she dropped the puzzle pieces that she was still holding into the box and slowly moved around the table towards her. “What you two did was nothing short of a miracle Hermione. I know it’s _magic_ and I know that I still don’t know anything about this world but, I don’t need to to know that what you did yesterday was incredible – and difficult. I can’t even imagine how hard it must have been for you.”

Hermione felt her throat tighten and she nodded. Ava was young, probably well under 30 and yet she was already such a mum. She was so intuitive, she was tough, she was a survivor and maybe that’s why Nasir had chosen to save her – because he saw her as worthy. Maybe somehow, he’d known that she would be able to push through this instead of falling apart like Colin was. Out of everyone they’d managed to rescue Hermione didn’t have a doubt in her mind that Ava was going to come out strongest – she was going to be okay. She was going to adapt, and she was going to _live_.

“Would it be okay if I hugged you?” Ava said when she’d come to a stop two feet away from her.

Hermione swallowed, her lips twitching into a smile as a small laugh left her lungs. “Yes, that’s fine.”

Ava grinned, slowly closing the distance and carefully pulling her into a hug. She felt warm and even though Hermione stiffened at the contact she hugged the girl back.

“Thank you for everything you did Hermione,” Ava whispered into her hair.

A familiar feeling of discomfort circled in her stomach at the words of gratitude. Hermione felt her eyes sting as she hugged the girl back and let out a ragged breath. She believed what she said to Harry before dinner.

Maybe they wouldn’t ever truly fit back into society. Maybe there wouldn’t truly be a place for broken and tainted people like them in the world after everything they’d done once the war ended. But they were going to be okay, and they wouldn’t be alone. There were at least a few people who might still yet welcome them and give them a place to belong.

-x-x-

“Everything okay?” Harry asked her as they made their way back to their dune and Hermione grabbed his hand.

It was dark, the wind had picked up and with it the smell of the ocean danced around them. Hermione felt a strange warmth circling in the center of her chest, it had sparked to life the second that they’d entered the cottage for dinner and it had done nothing but grow and fester as the night progressed. Ava’s hug and Fleur and Luna’s soft expressions had only seemed to awaken it deeper, and as she walked beside Harry she felt overcome by it. Like her body was being consumed by emotion, warmth and love – and she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it.

So she’d reached for him.

“Yeah,” Hermione said quietly as she watched Harry from the corner of her eye. “Everything is okay.”

She watched him while he pulled the tent from her purse. She watched him while they set it up and added sticking charms to the pegs to protect them from the wind. She watched him as he set their alarms and wards before they went inside and kicked off their boots. She watched him so intently that he finally glanced over to her as he removed his jacket and raised a brow.

“What?” he asked, a small smile forming on his lips though his voice was a bit nervous in a way she could only describe as _adorable_. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Hermione asked as she hung up her jacket, sent her purse to its usual place near their bunk and moved towards him.

“Like – _that_ ,” he said as he gestured towards her and she smiled at the expression on his face. She placed her hands on his chest and his instinctively moved to her hips. “Like – like I’m the only thing in the world.”

“I love you,” Hermione whispered as she curled her fingers into his sweater.

“I love you too Her–“

She cut him off, rolling up on the balls of her feet and catching his lips in a kiss. His surprise was short-lived, and she felt his hands shift as his arms wrapped around her tightly and she pressed herself against him. Somehow, no matter how many times she kissed him – no matter how familiar his lips were, it always felt different. Each time unique and each time laced with an infinitely different combination of emotions that made her heart flutter in her chest.

And this time the only word that came to her mind was ‘ _perfect’_.

Her hand threaded up the front of his sweater and into his hair, pulling him closer as she deepened the kiss and all but devoured him. She needed him. She needed him closer, to know that he was there with her through all of this and because she couldn’t handle the emotions bursting in her chest after so much _normal_. She heard him groan as he pulled her closer, one hand snaking up her back to tangle in her hair while the other slipped under her shirt and grazed across her skin. She moaned into his mouth, shivering at his touch and groping at his chest as she tried to pull him impossibly closer.

Yet it wasn’t enough, she still needed more – so she grabbed his sweater firmly and pushed him back toward their bunk. They moved seamlessly, Harry’s hands still wandering her body as their lips slid over each other’s until his legs bumped the edge of the bunk and she pushed him down against it. While not aggressive, it was the first time that she’d taken such a passionate and firm lead as usually he was the one to guide them. She crawled on top of him, catching his lips once more and straddling his hips as he gripped hers. She could feel the coil in her lower abdomen begin to wind as she spread her legs and sank low on his hips, pressing her center against his stiff length and grinding her hips. He groaned in response, pushing at her sweater until she broke free from their heated kiss to hurriedly rip it off over her head. He shifted to take off his own, his hands moving to unbutton her pants as she undid his belt. Their clothes were quickly thrown to the ground as the desperation began to grow almost like a panic in her chest as she pushed him back against the bed once more and kissed him fiercely.

She needed him.

She would always need him.

She couldn’t live without him, she loved him so much it hurt to breathe and she needed him to know it. To feel the same overwhelming emotion that was building inside her.

She broke their kiss once more and shuffled down his body, his hands sliding up her arms until they found her hair and she took him in her mouth. She heard him groan out above her and felt his fingers knot in her curls as she bobbed her head up and down along his length before moving again and straddling his hips once more. Their eyes locked as she positioned herself above him, his gaze was hazy, and his lips were slightly swollen from their kiss like she knew hers were. She watched his eyes pinch closed and his mouth fall open as she lowered herself on his stiff length and groaned out blissfully at the feel of him.

 _Perfect_.

It was perfect.

He slid into her already slick channel with ease, the familiar feeling of being full sending a wave of warmth through her body as the coil in her center grew tighter. She rolled her hips, leaning down to kiss him once more as she ground against him and revelled in the feel of his hands moving over her skin. His lips moved across her jaw, down her neck to her shoulder and she moaned as he sucked her pulse point and pushed his hips up to meet hers. It was everything she’d needed. She could feel the familiar wall of pleasure building in her body as he pushed himself up from the bed and pulled her against his chest – meeting each roll of her hips with a perfectly timed thrust.

He knew her, and he immediately picked up on her desperation and gave her everything that she needed as his lips skimmed back up her neck and his hand tangled in her hair once more. She panted and groaned out against him murmuring his name between a slur of ramble as he gripped her hip and pulled her down harder. He rolled them over, easily shifting her small frame beneath his and hovering above her on his elbow as he thrust into her and kissed her deeply. She could feel his own need growing as the air grew tight and heated between them. She rolled her hips up to meet his and pulled him down close. She threaded her fingers in his hair and lost herself to the feel of him as their pace started to quicken and the pressure built.

He felt so good, he made her feel so good and she loved the way that he made her feel completely encapsulated. She knew she was close, and she could tell he was too from his ragged breathing and the way that his grip on her body tightened.

“Harry,” she panted as he pushed into her deep once more and trailed hot open-mouthed kisses down her neck. “I – fuck Harry –“

She felt it snap, every tired muscle in her body tensing tightly as a wave of pleasure washed over her and the unbearable pressure of emotion on her chest lessened as her mouth dropped open in a throaty moan. She clung to Harry, riding out her high as he continued to thrust into her until she felt him break too. His low deep groan echoed by her ear, his body shuddered above hers before he collapsed on top of her and pulled her close. She kissed him deeply, her hands roaming across his back, up his arms and over the scar from the hillside battle. They laid there for what felt like an eternity, tangled in each other’s arms until they both grew cold and Hermione shivered against him.

“Do you want to work on anything tonight,” Harry asked quietly, his voice low and raspy.

“No,” Hermione whispered, and she kissed him again. “Let’s go to bed – we’ll do the calculations in the morning.”

“Good,” Harry murmured against her lips as he pulled her closer still and then deepened the kiss.

She didn’t care that they still had stuff to do. It could wait. Right now, the only thing she wanted was to stay curled in his arms and let her heart heal.

-x-x-

Wednesday, in a lot of ways, felt almost like a repeat of Tuesday. Except that it was also entirely different. They both woke within minutes of each other and started the day with a slow lazy kiss. They ate, completed the research that they’d delayed the day before, did a quick workout, went to the cottage to review the potions list that Luna and Ron had put together the day before and then set them on ingredient prep duty under Fleur’s supervision while they returned to the barn to check on the other muggles.

The barn was just as exhausting and upsetting as it was the previous day. Colin ate, asked more questions but didn’t handle the news about his family well. He entirely broke down and eventually refused to talk altogether. They weren’t really sure what to do with him, so they moved him to the other side of the barn and left him awake on a tether while they tended to Ariel – whose condition had not only _not_ improved from the day before, it had gotten worse.

Her bruises looked larger and deeper. The rings around her eyes were disturbingly dark considering the amount of sleep she’d gotten, and her pain had only grown more excruciating. She didn’t seem to care that they were there, she looked at them with dead hollow eyes as they checked her diagnostics and tried a few new charms which ultimately did nothing. She remained quiet and perfectly still in her cot as they pulled potion after potion from the purse, working on her carefully until Hermione finally vanished the diagnostic bubbles and sat back on her heels in defeat.

“ _Please_ ,” Ariel’s eyes flicked to Harry and her voice echoed empty and lifeless. She didn’t even need to speak the next words because her desire radiated from her being so deeply, they could _feel_ it. “Please just kill me.”

Silence rang out between them until Harry slowly nodded. “Alright.”

Hermione rose to her feet, looking to Harry with concern only for him to shake his head and gesture for her to move aside. She did – and she hated it. Her fingers twisted into the fabric of the sleeves of her sweater as she watched Harry draw Malfoy’s wand and point it directly at Ariel’s chest. The woman simply looked at him, only the tiniest hint of relief showing on her face as she quietly waited. He hesitated only a moment before visibly swallowing and whispering the words.

“ _Avada kedavra_.”

An eerie green light glowed throughout the room as the spell shot from his wand and Ariel’s breathing stopped. Silence surrounded them once more and the woman stared lifelessly toward them. Hermione could see the tension forming on Harry’s face as he stood there, wand outstretched, and eyes locked to the woman before him.

“Harry?” Hermione said quietly as she moved to his side.

“It shouldn’t be this easy,” he whispered as he lowered his wand and turned to look at her.

She could see it, the same painful hollow emptiness that she’d felt when she’d killed Rose was weighing on his heart. It was dark and it was heavy – and yet _casting_ it was as easy as breathing, which made it even harder to bear. She knew he was questioning himself right now just as she had, and he would carry this weight with him every day until the day he died.

It was just like the rest of them, all the other lives they’d taken by using dark magic time and time again – yet somehow, _Avada Kedavra_ felt worse. She wasn’t sure if it was because it was the nature of the spell itself, or because they’d only ever used it for mercy killing blatantly innocent people. Perhaps it weighed heavier than beheading a snatcher because somewhere in the recesses of her mind a part of her believed that the snatcher deserved it. She wasn’t sure – but she also did not plan to test the theory because she didn’t want to know. The burden was heavy enough as it was, and she didn’t need to determine if _Avada Kedavra_ carried more weight over _sectumsempra_ or not.

“I know,” she said softly. “It was for me too – you’re not alone Harry, and it doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

He nodded, but she knew her words would do little to help so she just stood there with him in silence until he finally took a step towards her.

“Fleur said there are shovels in that room,” he nodded towards the small supply closet that had been added to the barn. “We should go dig the grave.”

Hermione nodded, following behind him and taking a shovel before heading outside. They dug the grave by hand in silence, only using magic to shore the walls and prevent it from caving in. They located it outside of the werewolf paddock and under a tree near the garden. It took hours of relentless and exhausting work. Sweat poured from their bodies as they each dug in silence, every strike of the shovel like a therapeutic balm against their souls as they let out their grief and anguish and poured it all into this single action. Neither one of them noticed that they’d missed lunch and by the time they finished it was late and they knew they’d probably be last to dinner.

Yet it hardly felt like it mattered.

After placing Ariel in the grave and covering the hole they marked the grave with a small cross, Hermione using simple gold letters to identify her name before they stood there in silence for a few moments longer. They didn’t speak until they’d gone back to the barn to put away their shovels and clean up their supplies. They vanished Ariel’s temporary cot, then gave Colin the protein drink Fleur had sent with them along with more dreamless sleeping draught before apparating back to Shell Cottage. They arrived seconds after Arthur did and Hermione immediately regretted that they hadn’t cleaned themselves up better at the barn first.

With one look Arthur instantly knew what had happened – there was no other reasonable explanation for why they’d be covered in dirt with sweat streaks down their faces. It had been a stupid mistake – had Colin actually _looked_ at them when they’d returned to the barn surely he would have gotten nervous. But the man was so closed down he only looked at the floor. She and Harry had been so exhausted they’d not even thought about it and it could have gone poorly. She felt her jaw clench tight as she berated herself internally and stared at the man before her.

Maybe it was their solemn and worn expressions or maybe it was the deep sadness in their eyes, but for some reason Arthur said nothing. He simply stared at them sadly for a long silent moment before nodding stiffly, making his way into the cottage and carefully closing the door behind him so the others wouldn’t see them. The second he’d disappeared from view they both cast a round of rapid cleaning spells to remove the dirt and sweat. Then they took a deep breath, refocused, and made their way inside to join the others.

Dinner proceeded similarly to the previous night and Hermione once again found herself thankful that Mrs. Weasley seemed so intent on bringing everyone together. It made the day feel a little less terrible and every time Remus or Arthur smiled, or Liza laughed at Fred and George it made the weight easier to bear. She watched Harry from the corner of her eye as he remained calm and collected before the group even though she knew he was struggling. It hurt to watch, and it made her feel even more for him that he’d had to watch her go through everything that she’d been through thus far.

In a twisted way – getting hurt was easy, far easier than watching someone you love suffer.

Yet despite his internal struggle the night was far from over: they still had training, the meeting and a food supply run to complete.

The first of which went well. Training was productive, everyone learned how to use basic tethers properly and most people’s shield times had increased by a few seconds. Ron still refused to try casting the spell, but he worked through the wand movement just the same and doubled down on his tether training before joining back in for the occlumency drill.

The meeting was somber at best. Everyone provided a status update, and they all agreed to begin potion brewing the following day since Shacklebolt confirmed that he’d be dropping off the ingredients at the safe house tonight while they worked to properly preserve the food supplies Hermione and Harry would be collecting. It would be a long and tiresome night, but it would put them in good shape for the foreseeable future and leave the Order free to continue their war efforts while Hermione and Harry pursued Horcruxes and finalized the Gringotts break-in.

News of Ariel’s death was met with a heavy silence. No one asked how she died, and the table was filled with a mix of reactions. About half of them looked to Hermione and Harry sympathetically while the other half intentionally looked away and stared at their coffees. Only Shacklebolt looked them dead in the eye and gave them a solemn nod of approval before uttering the words “ _Thank you_ ”. They quickly changed the topic to the upcoming werewolf transformations and Hermione detailed out their alternative plan for how they could manage things going forward – and it involved banding.

Rightfully so the word _banding_ was met with raised brows and concern, so she and Harry spent 45 minutes answering questions and explaining how it would work.

Since the banding magic was stable it wouldn’t cause any injuries – it was the stasis charm that had been killing the muggles. Creating bands without the stasis charm was rather straight forward and developing a bond based on the runes _Gibo_ , _Elhaz_ and _Fehu_ as per the calculations they’d completed that morning would allow them to band someone with lycanthropy to another person who would essentially be their keeper during their transformation. It would act as their moral compass and keep them from harming anyone or damaging anything until they shifted back into human form. With the bands on – hypothetically – the werewolf could stay at home for the transformation and would be somewhat similar to a pet dog: controllable and harmless. Though obviously, it would be up to the individuals if they wanted to try this option since it came with its own set of questions and drawbacks.

The most obvious one being – they needed to be banded to someone who could be trusted on a serious and fundamental level. This was Arlo’s experiment all over again and it needed to be taken seriously. She could create the bond to be based on peace, she could make it more difficult for the bond to be abused but even then, she could not guarantee it. Hermione herself wasn’t entirely sold on the idea and neither was Harry now that he knew it wasn’t rock-solid, so they refused to give out any specifics as to how the bands were created because they absolutely did not want anyone to dabble in it. If they had more time – maybe someday they could create something more secure, a bond that could protect without risk of control or abuse, but for now, this was all they could do before the weekend.

So they left it open-ended and up for future discussion with the caveat that _if_ they decided to go forward with the concept the bands would only be utilized during the full moon, removed immediately afterwards and Hermione would continue to work on them to make them safer.

After the meeting Hermione and Harry sat together with Fleur and Mrs. Weasley and finalized the list of food, making a few small changes based on what Hermione knew the bulk storage warehouse would stock. Ron cleaned up the kitchen and then went to go check on Dean while Remus left to go check on Tonks. Meanwhile Shacklebolt, Bill and Arthur discussed the latest war news from the office then tried to figure out what to do with Colin since he didn’t seem to be responding well to the news of his family or to Hermione and Harry. In the end, Shacklebolt decided to come to the barn the following day during his lunch break to speak to the man in person in the hopes that he might respond to him better.

At 11 pm Mr. Weasley left with Shacklebolt to gather the potion ingredients from Thomas. Bill, Fleur, and Mrs. Weasley apparated to the barn to wait for the food supply delivery while Hermione and Harry took the two port keys and got ready to complete the supply run. It was going to be a late night for everyone and the rising winds and cold front that had swept in made her stomach knot as they cast their shield charms and set their disillusionments. She found Harry’s hand easily like it was an extension of her own body and gave it a quick squeeze before she apparated them to the Northern warehouse.

As expected, the place was deserted.

She’d apparated them a little ways away just to be on the safe side but after sending out a few quick detections spells they confirmed that the only person nearby was the muggle security guard at the front entranceway. Getting in was easy, they cautiously and silently crept around the back until they found an ‘ _emergency exit only door’_ and unlocked it. They froze the muggle alarm system with _immobulus_ and then slipped inside completely undetected. With the werewolf den being destroyed, they no longer ran the risk of running into bonded pairs – not to mention that Voldemort’s snatcher squad had just taken a massive blow and was likely scrambling from resource shortages, so the odds of them running into any trouble in this area of England were so low they were almost zero.

That said, they took no risks and remained disillusioned and shielded for the entire mission.

It took them just under two hours in total to navigate the large warehouse and collect everything that they needed together into two piles of goods. They tethered all the items together before tethering them to the port keys and activating them. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched an entire pallet of rice stacked with canned goods disappear in the blink of an eye once she’d activated her port key and her arm buzzed with an immediate confirmation of the goods being received.

They’d have to thank Ron again – because this truly was a brilliant idea that saved them an enormous amount of time.

Hermione kept track of everything that they took on a spare bit of parchment so that they could reimburse the company later as she refused to allow a muggle company to suffer losses due to a war they had no fight in. The muggle community of England had already been terrorized by Voldemort and she wouldn’t allow them to take any other hits if she had the capacity to prevent it. It took them another twenty minutes to find the main office, break inside and adjust some of the ledgers to account for the stock losses. They didn’t worry about the smaller items – but they did account for some of the larger items. She knew it wasn’t a perfect _heist_ since the stock quantities would be captured elsewhere and she knew that someone was probably going to get in trouble for the inexplicable deltas – but all she could do was keep track of it and then try to right the wrongs after the war was over.

Had it been possible to break into a wizarding food storehouse somewhere she would have – but as per Shacklebolt’s latest updates Voldemort’s forces had a large foothold there and they didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks when there were easier targets available. She hated thinking of it that way because it made her feel no better than the Death Eaters – taking advantage of muggles because they were easy and often defenceless in small numbers against magic. Yet they didn’t have a lot of other options, so she swallowed down the sickness she felt and followed Harry back outside into the night.

By the time they arrived at the barn it was bustling and by the bright glow of magical light that lit up the large space you never would have guessed that it was nearly 2:00 am on a Thursday. Mrs. Weasley had organized an unpacking chain and was instructing everyone on how to charm the food so that it would keep longer and she was organizing it against the side of the barn that they’d decided to use as a storehouse while adding wards to prevent any critters from getting into it.

For the third time in 48 hours Hermione found herself feeling oddly grateful for the brash woman.

As irritating and as overbearing as she could be at times, she was a truly gifted witch in her own right who added value to the Order in ways that Hermione never even would have thought of. No, the woman didn’t know many duelling spells and yes, she was often over emotional and dramatic – but she was good at making supplies last. She was good at organizing and keeping order. She’d run a household of nine while having the budget for three and had somehow made things work for years. She knew countless household spells and preservation techniques that Hermione didn’t even know existed. The woman was in her element – taking control and adding value in a crucial area that often got overlooked in times of war because it wasn’t glorious or deemed difficult. Most people would never think about food management, storage and organizational skills as being war assets.

Yet it was so incredibly important and it was a skill set that almost the entire rest of the Order lacked. Everything else could be taught. If Mrs. Weasley let them, and if she put her temper and moral compass aside – they could teach her how to duel like the rest of the Order members, and she would become a force to be reckoned with.

Hermione and Harry quickly joined in, taking direction from Mrs. Weasley and making quick work of the supplies before turning to assist Shacklebolt and Arthur with the potion ingredients in a similar fashion. She was pleased to note that Arthur’s leg seemed to be holding up well and he’d even declined a new numbing charm. By the time they’d finished, and locked and warded the barn it was almost 3:00 am.

Everyone looked tired and weary – and yet, strangely happy. Faint smiles ghosted across everyone’s face as they made their way back out into the cold wind and began apparating home. Hermione sent a message to Remus to let him know that the mission had been successful, then she gave Shacklebolt a copy of the list of goods they’d taken from the muggle warehouse. The man had gently patted her on the shoulder, gave her and Harry a small smile and told them that they’d ‘ _done a good job today’_ before he apparated home to catch a few hours of sleep.

They thanked Mrs. Weasley for her assistance and direction with the supplies. She’d beamed at the praise and became flustered when Hermione and Harry both allowed her to hug them briefly before she apparated to the Burrow with Arthur – who, somewhat surprisingly, pulled them aside before leaving and told them that he was proud of them. Hermione could see the underlying pain in his eyes as he spoke but regardless of his own moral objections, he told them that he knew they’d only done what they had to do and that he respected them for it. He thanked them for bearing the burden and he once again promised to continue to support them no matter what. Hermione hadn’t really known what to say at his words, so she’d simply hugged him and gave him a painful smile before he grabbed Mrs. Weasley’s hand and apparated them away.

In the end, they were left standing in the cold with Bill and Fleur. Perhaps they looked more tired than they realized or perhaps the heavy weight Hermione knew Harry was carrying was finally starting to show because Bill extended his hand to them and offered to apparate them home.

 _Home_.

He’d called the cottage _home_ and he’d extended it to include them.

Hermione could only nod and take his hand before grabbing Harry’s. Then with a familiar lurch and a small pop Bill brought all four of them back to the cottage where they said goodnight and headed in their usual directions. It was 3:30 am by the time Hermione and Harry finally collapsed into their bunk after setting their wards and brushing their teeth. Hermione curled into Harry’s side, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her close as his lips brushed her forehead with a soft kiss. She could feel the multiple heartbeats within her head relaxing into slumber and she was glad that both Arthur and Bill were able to sleep in a little and go to work late since they had no morning meetings. She was so tired she couldn’t even make her mouth move to whisper goodnight to Harry and instead she tangled her hands into his shirt before passing out entirely.

They woke in a tangle of limbs and panic, cold sweat dripped down her back as she shot upright in bed and reached for her wand while gasping for air. The tag on her arm was buzzing violently, the wind was raging outside and she could hear rain falling as Harry’s gruff morning voice echoed near her ear.

“Hermione the wards–“

“I know I felt it.”

Something unfamiliar but very much human had brushed against the outer wards of the cottage on the Northern side. It was lingering there, shifting slowly along the outer border like it _knew_ the wards were there but could not get through – it wasn’t a muggle. This was someone who knew what magic was and the brush against the wards had been cautious.

It was the first time since they’d arrived at Shell Cottage after setting their own wards around the property layered against Bill’s that they’d felt anything come even remotely close to touching them. Hermione jumped from bed, Harry crawling out after her and summoning two large sweaters from her open purse. He tossed one to Hermione and she quickly pulled it on, not caring that it was large and probably one of his as she checked the time, lit the tent and read the messages streaming in on her arm.

It was 8:08 am and the message was from Bill – he’d felt it too and he was going to go check it out while Fleur woke everyone in the cottage and prepared them for an emergency evacuation to the farm as per the ‘ _Shell Cottage emergency exit plan A’_. Bill was asking them for backup as he closed down the wards to prevent any other entries and to only allow Fleur, himself, Harry and Hermione access in or out.

Hermione buzzed Bill back, telling him that they would be there in seconds as she rapidly pulled on her boots and ran out of the tent behind Harry who had summoned her purse and was already removing tent pegs at an astonishing rate. Thankfully, they hadn’t needed to pack anything else up because they’d never unpacked the night before after completing the supply run. They’d simply set up the tent and passed out.

She felt heartbeats spike to life in her head as everyone woke and prepared for the worst. The Order had long since agreed that safety was paramount and that they would not take any chances if the location of Shell Cottage was ever breached. That said, there were too many supplies and valuable resources to abandon the cottage entirely without confirming the threat. Step one of the _Shell Cottage emergency exit plan A_ was to get everyone out – which was currently Fleur’s task. But step two was to check the wards and decide if the issue could be handled or if they needed to abandon ship entirely.

Thus, Hermione and Harry had agreed to help Bill assess the threat if a breach ever happened so that he’d know if he needed to torch the cottage before he left. Bill had told them that they had a minimum of 10 minutes before the wards could be disassembled, but disassembly could only be completed by an extremely powerful and skillful wizard like Voldemort himself – and it would take a lot of brute strength. For anyone else it would be a bloody nightmare and likely impossible because the wards were immensely layered, complex and tied to Bill and Fleur directly.

Hermione took out the final tent pegs as Arthur and Mrs. Weasley buzzed that they were heading to the barn with their supplies in case of injury and Fleur messaged that she’d already apparated Ava, Liza and Charlie there. Remus and Shacklebolt were on standby and Bill was running out of the cottage towards them through the rain.

“Harry – Hermione!” he yelled to them as he approached. “I need you to undo the locked tethers on Ron – he can’t leave otherwise!”

“On it,” Harry passed the purse to Hermione and took off at a sprint toward the cottage as Hermione finished stuffing the tent into her purse.

Any remnants of sleep or grogginess had been quickly driven from her mind as she’d stepped out into the cold wind and rain. She felt like she’d been viciously slapped awake from the sleep of the dead. Her mind was now racing as she kept her attention split between monitoring the wards, checking the nine-minute timer she’d set when she shot out of bed and watching the vitals flare in her head.

“Ready!” Hermione called to Bill and the tall redhead stopped his approach with a nod and waited for her to run the few feet toward him. The cold air and rain stung her bare legs, she was still in her green pajama shorts and her loose-fitting sweater was quickly becoming waterlogged. She ignored it though, casting a wordless warming charm on herself as she and Bill sprinted back to the cottage arriving just a second before Harry burst back out through the door.

“Ron’s set – he’s going to apparate with Fleur last once everyone else is out,” Harry said as he joined Hermione and Bill in a run to the Northern edge of the property. “Fleur is going to hold to move Mr. Ollivander and Griphook given their health until we give her the signal.”

“Alright,” Bill nodded as they raced across the wet sand in the dim morning light, not pausing to stop while they each cast a shield and disillusioned themselves.

They silenced their feet as they grew closer to the edge. Hermione’s muscles ached with exhaustion from the day before as they sprinted and jumped over driftwood and rocks. It didn’t take them long to reach the border and Hermione felt Bill’s heart racing with anxiety as they slowed and began to creep along the edge with wands drawn. She squinted through the rain as they moved and approached the spot where they knew the person was still lingering, her eyes scanning through the nearly invisible wards as she willed her heart to calm. When they rounded a small beach boulder Hermione froze and she felt Harry’s heart spike.

A tall dark figure was standing in the rain just twenty feet away from them – impossibly still with an almost imperceptible sag of their body to their left side. She felt her breath catch in her chest as her eyes grew wide, her legs instinctively carrying her forward while the others remained motionless behind her. She closed the distance to ten feet, knowing that Bill’s wards and her shield would protect her if she was wrong and she let her disillusionment flicker away – leaving her clearly visible. Drenched from the rain she stood there and stared at the man on the other side. Water ran down her nose, her hair was stuck to her face and her sweater was starting to droop from the weight of the water and yet she didn’t even notice it as she took one final slow step toward the wards.

“ _Impossible_ ,” she breathed, her voice shaking as her arm went slack and her wand dropped to her side.

It was impossible. Her mind couldn’t rationalize it as she tried to understand what she was seeing. It had to be real, it couldn’t be a dream because she’d felt the wards – _Harry_ had felt the wards. Yet she couldn’t believe it and her immediate thought was that she was going crazy, or they were being deceived by a sick and twisted plot, or she’d fallen asleep on her feet from exhaustion and was dreaming this. She blinked her eyes hard and shook her head as the tag on her arm buzzed like crazy with status updates and the heart rates in her head continued to race.

“ _You_ _didn’t fall asleep_ ,” the voice was warped because it came from the other side of the wards, but the deep tone was familiar even if the hint of amusement laced within it was not. “ _Hello, Hermione_.”

(to be continued...)

-x-x-

I love you all. Thanks for being so supportive of my weekend off! I managed to get lots done and it was a most excellent break :) Hopefully this chapter was good enough to make up for not having one last week.

Come chat if you want to: https://discord.gg/DGz2s7

<3 Tori


	55. Chapter Fifty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return of one once lost. Lots of discussion, planning and the Order re-grouping after as they look to what's next while secret deals are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Today we hang with Hermione and Harry again – lots of talk, which I think is all important but not much forward plot progression (yet), I’m setting us up for that. 
> 
> Sorry to those who dislike certain characters in this fic and wish that they’d stay away – not really sure what to say on that one... I've addressed it in past chapters/comments, I've tried to explain his role and why he is needed without giving too much away and I've apologized for ruining the story for some readers - but, and I'm sorry if this sounds rude, frankly, I'm done apologizing for him being there.  
> There are an infinite number of ways to tell a tale and this is just *one* of them. I'm writing this story for fun and he is part of the plot. 
> 
> 2\. Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :) I only ask that you please be constructive with your criticisms and kind with your words.
> 
> Know that you are loved
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Updates on Sundays +/- a few days. Things are crazy right now but I’m still trying for weekly.

**Warnings:**

This chapter contains: explicit smut (which can be skipped without missing out on main plot)

******************************************

She stared at him, motionless as the wind ripped across her face and rain stung against the skin of her legs. She could feel herself shaking her head in disbelief as she looked at the tall man before her, at Nasir – her mentor and the man she’d left to die. Her emotions were welling and twisting in her chest as she tried to find the words she wanted to say. She wanted to run through the wards and hug him, she wanted to yell at him for letting them all think that he was dead and for making her leave him there in the first place, she wanted to demand answers from him, and she wanted to drag him off to the side so she could ask him for his help now that she had a second chance.

She had a million questions and she didn’t know where to start – she didn’t even know if she could trust him and worse, she didn’t know if it was truly _him_ at all. She heard Harry shift behind her as he directed Bill to tell Fleur to halt the evacuation and to hold for their signal.

“How did you survive the fire?” Hermione said after a long drawn out second passed by. She sounded breathless, relieved, angry, confused – she couldn’t pinpoint every emotion that laced her voice because she honestly couldn’t figure out how she felt. Instead she just felt like a mess.

“ _Does that matter?_ ” Nasir’s warped voice sounded once more, and a somewhat familiar glint shone in his eyes. Yet it wasn’t exactly the same. She’d seen it so many times in the short duration that she’d known him, and his eyes had haunted her sleep in the days since his death, so she knew they looked _different_ – somehow, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe it was just the wards warping his image – but maybe, and her grip tightened on her wand, it wasn’t him at all.

“Hermione asked you a question Nasir,” Harry’s voice sounded as he flickered into view on Hermione’s right side. His wand was lowered but he was still gripping it tightly like she was. “The first of several you’re going to need to answer if you want us to let you through this ward.”

“Hello Harry,” Nasir’s eyes flicked to Harry’s form and quickly took in the sight of his drenched body. He stared for a long moment before his eyes shifted back to Hermione.

“There’s a reason why _Death Eaters_ avoid using _fiendfyre_ ,” Hermione said almost coldly as she approached another step closer to the wards and squinted up at the man. “It’s dangerous – it’s volatile – it’s hard to control and kills the caster more often than not. Even _You Know Who_ avoids it. At that size the air around you would have been well over 600 degrees – it would have been impossible to breathe and you would have burned to death. You were buried three stories underground with no exit Nasir. Bill and Shacklebolt swept the remains after the explosion and found nothing – I _felt_ you die – how did you get out of there without burning to pieces?”

“ _A port key_ ,” Nasir answered her in a low even voice.

“A port key?” Hermione felt her brow raise but Nasir simply stared at her and remained silent. Which was entirely normal and typical behaviour for him – which was promising. Her eyes roamed over his dark form, he seemed mostly the same though his slightly slouched stance was both out of character and concerning just like the small change to the glint in his eyes. “Where did you get a port key?”

“ _I’ve had it for a long time_ ,” his deep voice remained even. “ _I had it made back before the Ministry kept such a close eye on them_.”

Hermione nodded, that made sense. The Ministry started heavily regulating port keys in the 1950s and she already knew he was alive long before that.

“Where did the port key take you?” Harry asked him, drawing Nasir’s eyes back to him once more.

“ _It’s tagged to a small pendant which I left in a safe place_ ,” Nasir answered.

“What did you say to me when we met for the first time at the table at the Burrow?” Hermione asked him quietly. His lips twitched in a familiar way at her question and she saw the glint in his eyes shift darker as he turned his eyes back to her.

“ _I’ve never been to the Burrow, we met here at Shell Cottage_ ,” his low voice rumbled. “ _And I didn’t say anything to you when we met at the table – the first words I spoke directly to you were ‘ of course’ and it was regarding your request to cast a simple diagnostic charm on me to ensure that I was not under disguise of Polyjuice potion. I complied then and I will comply again now_.”

Hermione nodded once more and loosened her grip on her wand. She was almost certain that this man was indeed Nasir.

“What shape does my _fiendfyre_ take?” Harry asked quietly as his shoulders started to relax. Clearly, his suspicion of the man before them being an imposter was fading as well. Though his final question was a good one to ask since only three people in the world knew the answer.

“ _A snake_ ,” Nasir’s eyes shifted to Harry once more. “ _More specifically – a Death Adder._ ”

Harry turned to look at Hermione and nodded. They didn’t need to say anything – no one else knew the specifics of his _fiendfyre_ and they knew that Nasir was both an accomplished occlumens and legilimens. The odds of someone having successfully ravaged his mind for information was low if not impossible. And even if someone had managed to _steal_ his memories the chances of them recalling that specific detail so quickly and flawlessly was virtually impossible. The only thing left to do was check his diagnostics.

Hermione moved toward the wards, pocketing her wand in the drenched oversized sweater and then extending her empty hand until it stuck through the wards up to her wrist. Without uttering a word, she locked her feet to the ground with a tether on the Shell Cottage side. This way he wouldn’t be able to pull her through the wards if he somehow did turn out to be an imposter – which at this point Hermione doubted so firmly she had to actively resist the urge to just walk through the wards entirely and bear hug him.

Nasir watched silently as she cast the diagnostic bubbles he’d taught her and they appeared above his shoulder. She felt Harry’s heart calm in her head just as hers did when they read the familiar vitals. This was unmistakably Nasir. They’d practiced the charm on him and each other so many times that she felt like she could pick them both out of a crowd based solely on vitals alone since everyone had a unique combination of signals. Even though his resting heart rate was elevated a fraction above the usual low steady rate he typically had, there were no signs of any potions affecting him. Hermione exhaled deeply, relief flooding her body with a sadden smile before her face crumpled and her shoulders sagged. She could hear Harry directing Bill again and the tag on her arm began to buzz as the news was spread to the other Order members.

“Where have you been?” her voice was quiet, almost broken as she removed the locked tether from her feet then stepped fully through the wards. Without hesitating she closed the distance between them, grabbed him firmly around the middle, pulled him into a tight hug and buried her face into his chest. His dark robes were damp from the rain and they smelled like fresh air. It took everything that she had to keep the tears from falling. She could feel her eyes stinging as a whirlwind of emotions broke free and churned within her. Guilt, sadness, hope, exhaustion – her fingers knotted tighter into his robes as her chest constricted. She had her mentor back, her friend, her ally – she had a second chance.

She could still make a deal.

She could still save Harry. 

“Around,” Nasir’s familiar rich voice sounded above her. Without the distortion from the wards it was a comforting and familiar sound. He didn’t push away from her, but he didn’t exactly return the hug either – his hand simply came to rest gently on her back as he stood there and allowed her to hold him. “I was delayed.”

Hermione held back a scoff at his nonchalant words and squeezed him tighter only to freeze when she felt him flinch. It was so microscopic and abrupt that she’d almost missed it, he’d tried to hide it and if she didn’t know him any better she might have assumed that he’d just shifted under her hold – but she did know him better, and she knew just how silent and _still_ the man could be. As quickly as she’d grabbed him, she let go and stepped back as Harry crossed the wards behind her and came to join them.

“Drop it,” Hermione’s voice turned serious as she looked up to his face once more.

Her eyes scanned across his neck, his chest and then down his clothed arms before circling back up to his gaze once more. He stared at her, his dark eyes watching her carefully as he remained unmoving yet slightly slouched and she felt her jaw start to clench. He was injured, probably worse than what he’d ever let on and he was bloody hiding it.

Was he even able to apparate? Is that why it took him three days to get here? Questions flooded her mind as her eyes narrowed at him and her fists tightened at her sides in frustration.

“Drop the masking charm _now_ Nasir – I’m not going to have you die for a second time because you’re too stubborn to get help with your injuries,” she said flatly.

His lip twitched again and the glint in his eyes shone brighter. Her eyes narrowed once more as she watched his reaction – it seemed… _warmer_ somehow. His mannerisms were all the same, his voice was the same, his body was the same – still and quiet like it always was – and yet the cold that radiated from his eyes seemed somehow less harsh, less detached and not so empty. He almost seemed a fraction less unnatural. It only made more questions spark to life in her mind, but she ignored them as she forced her brain to focus on the problem at hand.

“You’re very observant,” he said slowly as his head tilted a fraction to the side. “Though I assure you I’m not going to die – not today at least. I simply did not want to cause any concern.”

“Drop it,” Hermione repeated, and she took a step forward into his space once more. “You’re wasting your energy maintaining it. I read the notes in your journal about masking charms Nasir, so I know how they work now – they require a constant level of effort and magic to keep them in place. Which means that you’ve mastered the ability to _dual_ cast, it’s the only way that you would’ve been able to hold a permanent masking charm on yourself to hide your runes _and_ use other magic – which I have a million questions on but that’s not important right now. So cut the facade Nasir – _stop_ draining yourself and let us help you. We’re a _team_ remember – you don’t need to do this alone.”

“I know,” Nasir said quietly after a long silence rang out between them. He let out one of his rare quiet sighs and his shoulders visibly relaxed as he let his masking charm drop. “That’s one of the reasons why I came back here.”

Hermione felt her eyes grow wide – not at the multiple runes that began to fade into view along the underside of his jaw and neck, she’d seen those in the den when he removed his masking charm – but at the significance of his words and the collection of other marks that now covered the small amount of skin she could see.

Most of the skin on his neck was still raw, but several burn scars crept up the left side of his neck and two trails reached mid-cheek on his face like spiking flames. Two fresh scars ran across his perfect face, cutting from his hairline down across his eye nearly reaching his ear where he’d either been clipped by a werewolf’s claws or hit with something across the face during the explosion.

She’d been able to tell he was injured sure, but she’d not expected this. Yet she didn’t gawk or gush sympathy that she knew he wouldn’t want. It meant more to her than words could describe that he’d _actually_ dropped the masking charm before them. As stern as she’d been just seconds ago she’d not entirely believed that he would listen and do as she asked. So, either he was more exhausted than he was letting on or he trusted them and perhaps genuinely wanted to be on their team – which only added more unanswered question to the ever-growing list in her head. Regardless though, she knew that she needed to treat this trust with care and not ruin it by making a fuss over something that he’d clearly hidden to avoid drawing concern. So, she set her jaw tight and nodded at him firmly.

“Let’s get you inside and heal those before they get infected,” Hermione said evenly, and she closed the distance between them once more to help him walk through the wards.

It didn’t take long to figure out that his slouch was a result of an unresolved injury to the left half of his body and it only became even more glaringly obvious as he moved through the wards with them. Harry had wordlessly stepped up to Nasir’s opposite side to help when they both realized just how serious his injuries were. It was a miracle that he’d gotten here at all and Hermione fought the urge to bombard the man with questions as they silently made their way through the rain across the driftwood and small rocks. Bill had already run his way back to the cottage to help Fleur and Hermione silently thanked Harry for sending the redhead on his way since she doubted that Nasir would have dropped his masking charm before the Weasley.

They didn’t dare apparate Nasir and instead walked silently for ten minutes until they reached the cottage, then continued on towards their sand dune. She’d thought about pitching the tent somewhere closer so that he didn’t have to walk as far, but then they would be too close to the outer wards and she figured that Nasir might take that as an insult to his capabilities. Regardless though they would patch him up in the tent – neither she nor Harry even considered bringing him to the cottage just yet.

The cottage was already packed as it was and was undoubtedly swarming with questions and overly apologetic people who felt guilt-ridden about his sacrifice. Seeing Nasir injured would only make things more awkward and make those he’d saved feel worse. She figured it would be best to get Nasir fixed up properly before they brought him back to the cottage to be swarmed by the Order.

When they reached their familiar dune, Harry dropped his hold on Nasir opened the purse Hermione held and pulled out the tent. He set it up while Hermione stood bracing Nasir – it felt so oddly familiar to how he’d held her up in the cottage after healing her arm, except that now she was the one caring for him.

It seemed suiting that she could finally return the favour, and frankly, it was the least that she could do after everything this man had given her.

“You made me a grave?” his low voice rumbled to her left and she realized that he was staring at the dune where they’d buried Dobby and marked _his_ grave. The shinning silver letters were just barely visible in the dim light.

“Yes,” Hermione said quietly as she looked up towards him and studied his face. His eyes were clouded with something that she’d not ever seen before but they remained indecipherable much like him as a whole. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t forgotten. We can take it down though if you’d like, I suppose it’s a bit odd to see your own grave, I hope it doesn’t–“

“Leave it,” he cut her off as he continued to stare at the grave. “It’s not entirely inaccurate and it seems suiting.”

“Nasir,” Hermione said slowly. “I _felt_ you die. Even if you did have a port key to escape it doesn’t make any sense how you’re still alive – are you saying that you died?”

“In a sense,” Nasir said flatly as he turned and looked down at her. He clearly didn’t intend to tell her anything else.

“Why can’t I feel your vitals now – where is your tag?”

“It was damaged in the fire, so I removed it,” he said simply as he continued to stare down at her.

“Alright,” Hermione accepted the explanation for him not having the tag now but not the explanation of his ‘ _death’_. She knew the difference in the feel of vitals going silent because a tag was removed vs vitals flatlining. They were distinctly different and his had most definitely flatlined. She stared up at him a moment longer before she lowered her voice and decided to take a chance at pushing him. “Your vitals _flatlined_ , Nasir. How did you come back?”

“Using something that I plan to never teach you,” Nasir said slowly and so quietly there was no way that Harry would have heard what he said. He was eyeing her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and exactly where her train of thought was going. “Something that I used for the last time and will take to my grave.”

“Did you,” Hermione hesitated, glancing at Harry and waiting until he moved to the other side of the tent to secure the pegs. She looked back to Nasir as her heart started to flutter with nerves. Surely mentioning the name of them wasn’t an issue – this was Nasir. She’d read his journal; she knew the dark things he’d dabbled in – surely the man already knew what they were and surely just saying it wouldn’t hint at their secret mission. “Did you use a _Horcrux_?”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to ask that question,” Nasir’s lips twitched as if something was amusing. “No. _That_ is a rather crude approach that requires you to obtain another body and rely on others to assist you. I wouldn’t recommend it, Hermione.”

Hermione stared up at the man, her fingers unconsciously knotting in the fabric of his robes as her mind raced and she continued to hold him up. Did he know that Voldemort used Horcruxes? Did he think that she wanted to use them? Did he think that Horcruxes were beneath him, or a subpar form of magic? It sure seemed like it based on that response.

Did he know they were hunting them? Had he ever met Voldemort? He was old enough after all, and certainly powerful enough to have caught the psychopath’s attention. Surely their paths had crossed at some point in the past and she was unsure if his small amount of amusement was directed at her or at the idea of him having used Horcruxes. Though she got the distinct impression that her and Harry’s original concern that he might be on Voldemort’s side was probably unwarranted.

“But you _died –_ ‘ _in a sense_ ’ you said – and came back?” she raised her brow at him. “And you’re not going to tell me how?”

“No,” he stared at her for another long second. “It’s an inconsequential detail.”

“But what if it could be useful to us,” Hermione dropped her voice lower, urgency growing in her chest as her eyes darted toward Harry who was just finishing up the tent. “What if that _inconsequential_ detail could mean the difference between us winning or losing this war? What if I _need_ that detail and as many others as you can give me so that I can ensure our safety so tha–“

“You mean _his_ safety,” Nasir cut her off quietly. He ducked his head another inch towards hers and dropped his voice to a whisper. She could feel his cool breath dancing across her face as he spoke. “Even _if_ I wanted to teach you this magic – I’m not sure it is something that you could ever learn. You are talented Hermione – but there are some spells that require certain qualifications that you, thankfully, currently don’t possess. Besides, I know _exactly_ what you would do with it and Harry would never agree to it.

“Nor would I wish the remaining fractured life you would have on either of you,” he said almost gently, and Hermione found herself swallowing hard under his intense gaze. “Death is a natural part of life Hermione – but it does not always mean it’s the end. There are other ways to win, there are other things you can learn – but _that_ will not be one of them.”

Hermione stared into his dark eyes. She felt like she’d just been lectured or scolded but she refused to back down and she refused to allow her hopes of protecting Harry to be snatched away from her for a second time. So he wouldn’t teach her how to come back from the dead – _fine_. He hadn’t said no to helping her and he’d hinted that he’d teach her other things. She swallowed hard, taking a deep breath before she spoke the words that she’d been wanting to say to him for what felt like ages now.

“Will you help me keep him alive, Nasir?” she whispered, searching his familiar and yet oddly different gaze. “ _Please_ – I’ll give you whatever you want. I can’t live without him.”

Nasir stared at her for a quiet moment his eyes flicking between hers while her brain finally registered what the difference in his gaze was – it wasn’t just the warmth; it was the _life_ that seemed to glint from within. He looked more human, less dead – still imposing and unnatural – yet less so and small almost imperceptible traces of emotions other than _interest_ were present in his gaze.

“I’ll do what I can,” his low voice rumbled quietly. She felt relief flood her body as a small smile crept across her lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and she felt her eyes stinging once more. “What do you want in return?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” he said quietly before he straightened and turned to look toward Harry who was coming back from setting up the tent.

They spent the next hour of the morning responding to messages and fixing the remainder of Nasir’s injuries, which largely turned out to be burns from the _fiendfyre_ and a few small bone fractures that he’d simply not gotten around to fixing yet. The most prominent injury proved to be the large chunk of muscle he was missing out of his left calf. He didn’t comment on what happened, if he’d been bitten or clawed or what – though Hermione had a hunch based on the way it was healed that he’d likely carved it out himself after being bitten to avoid getting infected with lycanthropy. This meant that dittany would not regrow the muscles – though Nasir seemed to be aware of that and rather indifferent towards it. He’d permanently walk with a small limp; his left leg would always be weaker and his physical duelling might be affected – but he genuinely didn’t seem concerned.

Nor did he care about the fact that his right hand was missing, a massive silver scar covered the blunt end of his arm, but he seemed to get along just fine without it.

The slouch was due to torn ligaments and muscles in his shoulder and chest that he’d been unable to heal after running out of supplies. As it turned out, he’d used everything he had on his legs and vital organs. He’d managed to heal everything up to mid-chest so that he could walk then he’d largely abandoned any surface level injuries deemed ‘ _unimportant’_.

When they asked him what happened after he used his port key he simply stated that he spent the first day most unconscious, then healed himself. He spent the second day slowly making his way back to Shell Cottage. Without being able to apparate he’d taken a muggle train and walked the majority of the distance. It went without saying after a simple look at the man’s injuries that the experience must have been excruciating and yet he seemed entirely unphased by it.

When they asked him why he didn’t just leave his pendant at Shell Cottage or tell them that he had a port key he remained silent for a long time then finally said: “ _I was uncertain if I would be returning. I did not know if my backup plan would be required, if it would work, or what would be left of me once it was implemented. Had it failed – it was best for it to happen away from here.”_

Neither she nor Harry commented on the runes that covered the man’s neck, chest, arms and back when he removed his shirt so they could fix his shoulder – though they both exchanged a quick look and a raised eyebrow before getting to work. Hermione silently memorized each symbol and their locations as she smeared burn paste on the rest of his raw skin. There were 6 on his neck made up of a repeating pattern of three, 2 on his back consisting of one on each shoulder blade, 2 on his left forearm, 2 on his right forearm, 12 on his chest in neat columns and 3 more encased in a blood-red border consisting of symbols that she’d never seen before located directly over his heart. He also had a small roman numeral tattoo on the base of his neck depicting the number nine, the IX was slightly faded and she could tell by looking at it that it was done with real ink and likely had no magical properties.

She didn’t ask what each of them were from or what they might have accomplished – at least not yet. She’d already pushed him for answers today and some of his responses thus far hinted that he’d been unsure if he was going to return to them after the den infiltration. Whether it was because of the lingering effects of the magic he’d used to prevent himself from dying or simply because he wasn’t entirely sure if he _wanted_ to follow them any further, she didn’t know. Either way though she didn’t want to push her luck. She was happy to have him back and she wanted to ensure that the man knew he was accepted regardless of whatever questionable things he might have done in the past.

She’d meant what she’d said about him being part of their team – they needed him and if she was being honest, she had a strong desire to stick together with other people who dabbled in the grey and walked the line of right and wrong. There was an unspoken level of understanding and acceptance between them that she couldn’t quite articulate. Yes, things between her and Harry, and the other Order members had been improving over the last few days and she sincerely hoped that it would continue to improve – but they would never _truly_ fit in. Not in their entirety and certainly not with the same level of understanding that this man could offer.

Just like how they’d all been quick to call Nasir a hero the moment that he’d _died_ the Order didn’t fully understand them. Maybe someday they might, yet in a strange way she hoped that they would never have to – that she could spare them from as much of this weight as possible throughout the war. And she found herself wondering what the dynamic would be between Nasir and the Order now that he’d returned and if he’d remain the _hero_ they seemed to think he was.

Besides, asking about his runes felt like a very personal thing to do while he sat there half-naked in their tent at the kitchen table.

Though _he_ seemed entirely unphased by the situation. Either he was incredibly comfortable with himself or he simply didn’t care. If anything, she and Harry were the ones who felt more awkward about it – since it was impossible not to be curious about how he’d stayed in such ridiculously fit condition given his age. Perhaps it was related to one of his runes, or some other dark magic that he’d used in the past.

But they didn’t ask about that either – because that also seemed too personal, and frankly inappropriate.

It took them just under an hour to finish healing him. The burn scars would permanently cover his arms, chest and neck because they’d come directly from _fiendfyre_ contact not just the radiant heat – they almost looked like an abstract tattoo laced with silver scars. He was fortunate that the skin healed smooth and flush with his body and that he wasn’t left with any rough or raised areas. The slouch was addressed once his shoulder was rebuilt and the remainder of his bones were quickly healed. The scars on his face had improved to thinner lines yet would not completely disappear, which made Hermione think that they’d indeed been caused by werewolf claws originally, but that perhaps they’d been torn wider by a subsequent collision to the face. Either way though, all said and done he looked pretty good and looking at him now she found it hard to believe that he’d been standing inside that blaze for as long as he did. She checked him over one last time with a diagnostic charm and confirmed that he was not infected and still as freakishly healthy as every other time she’d cast it.

Then she pulled an extra tag from her purse and fastened it to his right forearm once more. He didn’t argue or protest, in fact he freely gave her his arm and met her eyes with a level stare – uttering only the words: ‘ _Our agreement still stands’_ and Hermione responded back with a small nod and the words she knew he was looking for: ‘ _you have my word.’_

While they’d worked Bill had notified them that they’d brought everyone back to the cottage safely. Arthur and Shacklebolt had gone into work albeit somewhat begrudgingly, Mrs. Weasley had come to the cottage to help with potion brewing per the original plan, and Remus was staying with Tonks because she was massively uncomfortable and agitated that she’d not gone into labour yet. Fleur offered to bring them breakfast, which they accepted after checking that having a guest show up was okay with Nasir – and Hermione had to fight to keep a straight face at the double-take the girl did when she entered the tent and saw Nasir’s half-naked form as he slipped his black dress shirt back on.

Hermione knew Fleur well enough to know that the reaction didn’t mean anything other than genuine surprise. Fleur was fully committed to Bill in every way just like she was to Harry – but it didn’t make her wide eyes and brief falter of composure any less amusing. It was hard not to stare after all, she’d just been there for over an hour, so she’d gotten used to it.

He’d replaced his masking charm once they were done healing him, so Fleur didn’t see the scars or the runes – which Hermione suspected was because he didn’t feel like answering any questions from the Order. And frankly, she couldn’t blame him. She didn’t know how many people truly knew what rune carvings were but trying to explain _twenty-seven_ of them would be a nightmare and a half – they were illegal and dark magic for a reason. She’d have to ask him how to perform a masking charm so she could hide her own if the occasion ever called for it. Yet once again Nasir seemed completely indifferent about his shirtless state when Fleur entered the tent and he simply did up the buttons with his single hand while she handed plates of food to Harry and Hermione.

“Nasir,” Fleur said quietly as she approached the man and handed him his plate. “I know zat like ‘Ermione and ‘Arry you are not ze type to want attention or sympathy – but I do want to thank you for what you did. We will never be able to repay you and I know zat you must have paid a price zat we cannot even imagine.”

Fleur hesitated and moment and then took a small step closer.

“I promise to tell ze others not to swarm you,” she gave him a hesitant smile. “And I won’t ask you any questions – but I do want you to know zat it is appreciated, and words cannot describe ‘ow thankful we are.”

“Thank you,” Nasir said calmly as he took the plate from her with his remaining left hand.

“If you would like – you can stay at ze cottage?” Fleur continued to smile warmly at the man as he moved to sit at the table with Hermione and Harry. “I do not know where you stayed before – but you are welcome to stay ‘ere.”

“Or you can stay in the extra bunk here,” Hermione offered after she’d caught Harry’s eye and he’d nodded his agreement. She’d never agree to allow anyone to stay here without ensuring that Harry was okay with it first since this was _their_ home and frankly it contained a ton of information that could put them at risk. But clearly, he’d concluded the same thing that she had – it would be safer to keep Nasir closer than not.

“They’re not the most comfortable – but it’s warm and dry,” Harry added with a small smile.

Nasir stared at them for a quiet moment, his dark eyes shifting between them until he finally spoke in his low rich voice. “That will be unnecessary – but your offer is appreciated.”

“So where will you stay?” Hermione asked him as she took a bite of the breakfast hash Fleur had brought them.

“You two are not the first to make use of packable lodgings,” Nasir said as he picked up his fork. It almost sounded like dry humor and Hermione felt her lip twitch as she glanced to Harry then back to the man at her side. He always seemed to show them more emotion than everyone else in the Order, but dry amusement was a new side of him, or certainly not one that he’d shown them before.

“You have a tent too?” Harry asked, his brow quirked with interest. It was hard to imagine this man _living_ somewhere and somehow a mobile set-up like a tent made sense. Surely the man moved around on a regular basis and he didn’t strike them as the type to purchase a _home_ or _settle_ in any one location. It was too dangerous and made one too easy to find.

Nasir nodded and took a bite of the hash.

“Are you going to set it up here?” Hermione asked him as she scooped another bite.

Nasir’s eyes shifted back to Fleur and his fork paused halfway to his plate. “If that is acceptable to you?”

“Of course,” Fleur’s face lit up once more as her eyes flicked around the table at the strange dynamic before her. It looked so normal and domestic and it seemed to make her want to squeal with repressed joy at the sight of a calm Hermione and Harry having breakfast with a placid Nasir. Yet she’d never allow herself to do it and instead just continued to smile broadly at them. “You may set up your tent wherever you like – and please join us for dinner, we usually sit down around 6 pm.”

 _Out of everyone in the Order_ , Hermione thought as she smiled at Fleur, said goodbye and watched the woman leave the tent to return to the cottage. _She is the most likely to truly_ _accept us in the end, aside from Luna._

After eating Nasir left their tent to go set up his own. They followed him out into the drizzle mostly to make sure that no one from the cottage came out to bother him but also to see if he needed any help. He didn’t. Even with his missing hand and almost unnoticeable limp he was entirely competent in every way and refused any numbing charms or pain medication that she offered him. So, she and Harry simply gathered driftwood for training in their still waterlogged clothing while he selected a dune to the North-West of theirs and quickly set up his tent. It was small like theirs, but she didn’t doubt that the inside was expansive.

He told them that he had things to work on but would join them for dinner at the cottage and would also meet them first thing in the morning for training and to discuss the questions that they had on some of his journal entries. So, they left him alone for the remainder of the day and retreated to their own tent to change, discuss his return, continue their research on Horcruxes and revisit their plans to break into Gringotts. Hermione could feel Nasir’s slow steady heartbeat in her head as she ducked into their tent with a smile – it was reassuring. But the second she walked through the threshold into the kitchen and inside the safety of their silencing charm Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm firmly.

“Hermione,” Harry’s voice was serious, and his gaze met hers with an intensity that she rarely saw him direct at her. He kept his grip on her arm tight as he stepped towards her, backing her up to the pole in the center of the tent until she could no longer move and then he closed the distance between them. “I’m happy that Nasir is back – _genuinely_. Especially after what he did for Arthur, Remus and Ava – but I _know_ you. And I know what you’re going to do if you haven’t _already_ done it – so I want to be perfectly clear about this and set some boundaries. _We are not making deals with that man_. If he wants to help us win the war – great. I will take everything that he can give us, I will let him help us until the very end and learn whatever he is willing to share. But I’m not going to have this turn into a ‘ _who can strike the better deal_ ’ competition while we both try to ensure each other’s safety.”

Hermione felt herself stiffen as Harry took yet another step closer and gripped her hip firmly with his free hand.

“I’m not stupid Hermione – I _know_ that you’ve already thought it,” Harry lowered his voice as he eyed her almost suspiciously. “What were you two talking about while I set up the tent?”

“I asked him how he came back,” Hermione said truthfully, and she kept her face calm, impassive – sincere. “I asked him if he’d used a Horcrux – he said he’d expected me to ask that which makes me think he probably knows quite a lot about them.”

“Did he use one?” Harry asked her, unable to keep his interest at bay through what she could only describe as a mild if not loving interrogation of her intentions. She’d felt his stress levels elevate slightly the second that he asked her about their conversation and she knew he was concerned.

“No – he said that Horcruxes were a rather ‘ _crude_ ’ approach. He didn’t seem to think very highly of them and apparently he used something else – but he refused to tell me what,” she said, as she continued to meet his eyes. She could feel irritation growing in the pit of her stomach and she could see something similar coming to life in Harry’s eyes. She would never lie to Harry, but she would not tell him that she’d already made a deal. She’d simply omit the truth.

“He refused to tell you?” Harry repeated and she nodded. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she let out a sincere sigh and ran her hand through her hair in frustration before lightly grabbing his wet sweater and looking up at him in defeat. “He said I’d probably be unable to do it, that it required certain qualifications I was lacking and that it came with heavy consequences that he wouldn’t wish on us or anyone else. But he said that he would teach us other things to help us win.”

“So, you didn’t try to make a deal with him?” Harry asked her quietly, his eyes burning as he stared at her intently.

Hermione fought to keep her face defeated as her heart rate spiked and her internal irritation flared once more. She was happy that she’d not given Harry’s tag the capability to read vitals because otherwise he would have instantly known that she had.

“No,” Hermione said quietly and she let her face fall, though she knew that she probably looked a bit angry as well. It wasn’t technically a lie – she’d not _tried_ anything. She’d been successful and she _had_ struck a deal with him. She let her voice drop to a grumble as she dropped her eyes to his chest in irritation. “I didn’t have enough time.”

“Good,” Harry said firmly before he trailed his hand up her side and gripped her chin lightly, tilting her head back so she was looking up at him. “ _Don’t_.”

“That’s not your decision to make, Harry,” Hermione said stiffly as she looked at him defiantly.

“Hermione _please_ ,” he whispered as he brought his face closer to hers and she saw his eyes soften a fraction. “ _Please_ don’t. I don’t even want to imagine what he’d ask for in return. Please don’t make a deal with him for my sake – _please_.”

“Then you can’t either,” she snapped back as she met his eyes firmly and she let her irritation out. “You can’t tell me not to and then go do it yourself – so _you_ can’t make a deal with him for my sake either.”

Harry stared at her for a long moment. “Fine – I won’t.”

“Good,” she said angrily.

“Say you won’t,” his eyes narrowed at her.

“I won’t,” she said flatly, and her eyes narrowed as well.

“Good,” he said tightly.

“Good,” she repeated and she saw his jaw clench.

They both stared at each other angrily until Harry bent his head and captured her lips in an angry kiss. Hermione inhaled sharply at the contact and her hand twisted into his sweater.

“I’m _not_ going to let you sell your soul to save my life,” he murmured harshly against her lips as he pushed himself against her.

“I _already_ said I wouldn’t,” she breathed and crushed her lips against his once more.

She could feel every inch of him against her and it was sparking a bizarre and angry heat within her body. She hated herself for essentially lying to Harry, but she also hated that he thought he had some sort of control in what she decided to do. They needed to do what was necessary and they both knew that his life was more important than hers in this war. She understood how he felt because she felt the same way and she didn’t want him to make any deals either – but that didn’t make the irritation and desperation she felt any less agitating.

“Good,” he groaned against her as his hand snaked its way into her hair and his grip on her hip tightened. “Because I would never forgive myself or _him_ if you did – I can’t live without you, Hermione.”

Hermione groaned as his thigh pressed between her legs and she tugged at the hem of his wet sweater to pull it over his head.

“I can’t live without you,” she moaned against his lips as his leg pressed hard against her center. She tangled her hand into his hair and pulled away to glare at him hard. “I’ll never forgive you if you try to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Harry stared at her hard, his breath coming in pants from the intensity of their kiss.

“I know,” he breathed.

Then their lips crashed together once more as they poured out their fear, irritation and desperate need to protect the other. Her sweater dropped to the floor by her feet, landing next to Harry’s only a second before Harry tugged down her shorts and she ripped off his pajama bottoms. She could feel his hard length pressing against her abdomen before he tugged her hair, tilted her head back and kissed her so deeply she almost couldn’t breathe. She knew her nails were digging into him and yet she didn’t even question it or the heated intensity between them as she groaned into his mouth and arched her back against the pole.

Her heart was hammering in her chest – this was unlike anything she’d ever experienced as her hands roamed over his back and shoulders and he pressed her into the pole. She felt his hand skim down her leg, dipping behind her knee and lifting it so he could center himself between her legs before he pushed into her and a deep groan left their lips. It was tight, and yet she was so wet he’d slipped into her channel without any resistance. He groaned against her neck, his lips moving down her skin to her shoulder while she gripped his hair tighter and tilted her hips up to him.

It felt like a rush, like someone had just dumped a barrel of gasoline of the fire in her center that she didn’t even realize was burning. Just like the war – the desperate heat between them was growing, the intensity was mounting, and things were becoming harder, rougher and more wild each time they were intimate. It felt like years ago now that he’d pushed into her so gently and so slowly that first time in the Forest of Dean, and now, he was pumping in and out of her with practiced ease while she wrapped her leg around him and vulgar poured from her lips.

Gone was the naivety that they both once had, replaced with hardened reality and burdens heavier than most should ever have to bear. Yet somehow this made the weight seem lighter, it made everything seem easier as they both escaped and lost themselves to baser urges that at one point – she’d thought were immature. She’d thought these desires had somehow made her less responsible, less serious and less herself and they’d made her almost embarrassed to succumb to them.

 _Fuck how wrong was I_ , she thought as she rolled her hips up to meet Harry’s thrust and bit his shoulder hard to stifle her moan. This was a release; this was what she needed, and it was growing more intense and serious just like the two of them.

“Harder,” she groaned as she dug her fingers into his back and let her head fall against the pole.

A chill of excitement swept down her spine with a shiver as his grip on her tightened and he drove into her harder. His lips crashed against her fiercely once more and she hissed when he lightly nipped her bottom lip. She knew that a part of him was still holding back, she knew that even when he let go, he was still being careful – he was still treating her with care.

“Fuck Harry,” she panted as she knotted her hands into his hair once more. She wanted him to fully let go, she wanted him to know that rough was okay when they both needed it. She tugged his hair and gripped him tighter. “Ungh – god – harder Harry, _give it to me_.”

It was like her words flicked a switch and suddenly she was consumed by him. His hands traced over her body, it felt like they were everywhere all at once while his mouth left hers to kiss and bite at her neck while he pushed into her so hard her back thumped against the pole. She gasped then groaned and gripped him tightly as a wave of pleasure built within her like a storm. Each time her back hit the pole and his hard length hit the bundle of nerves deep within her she thought she would break. His breath was hot on her neck, his hands made her tremble and his deep groans at her touch was making her head spin as she fought to keep herself upright as her legs began to shake.

“Hermione,” he groaned as his lips moved over her ear and he pushed into her body harder. “Fuck Hermione – I’m going to come – but not before you.”

She shivered at his words and a moan seeped through her lips as her head rolled back.

“I want you to come while I’m inside you,” he groaned against her as her back hit the pole once more and another incoherent groan left her lips. “Come for me Hermione – I know your close.”

A second intense shiver of pleasure rolled down her spine and her entire body trembled in his arms. She could hardly think, she could hardly breathe, she was losing control of her limbs as the orgasm that had been building inside her finally snapped free at the sound of his deep raspy voice echoing a string of dirty words in her ear. Her mouth fell open as her eyes shut tight and a deep throaty groan poured from her mouth as he pushed into her hard over and over.

She didn’t realize how tightly she was gripping his hair; she didn’t even realize that her legs had given out and he was entirely holding her up, her mind was lost to intense bliss. She barely even registered the sound of a deep groan leaving his mouth as he came hard and jerked against her. His lips devoured hers and she moaned nonsensically as he braced himself against the pole and pressed up against her hard to prevent her from crumbling to the ground.

“Hermione,” he murmured, and her hazy eyes fluttered open to look up at him. “Are you okay? Was I too rough?”

A drunken smile cut across her lips as she looked at him, he was so god damn perfect her brain didn’t seem able to process the sweaty handsome figure before her. All she could do as smile like a love-struck idiot at his perfectly dishevelled hair and hazy eyes.

“I think you broke my brain,” she grinned wider when he snorted, and a smile broke across his face. “I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you are.”

She saw him blush and that only made her smile wider.

“You’re the beautiful one,” Harry muttered as he pushed some of the hair stuck to her forehead aside. “Perfect – but really, was that okay? I know it got a little bit intense there and I–“

“It was perfect Harry,” she whispered and tilted her head to kiss him gently. “It was exactly what I wanted and exactly what we needed.”

“Good,” his breath ghosted across her lips, his body now completely relaxed and void of the tension that’d been there during their heated conversation. “Because I liked it. Let’s go shower.”

“Okay,” she grinned at him as he carefully pulled himself out from her and she stood unsteady on her feet before him.

She summoned fresh clothes from the open purse on the table and followed Harry toward the bathroom. She decided to bury the guilt she felt for lying to him and instead to just enjoyed the calm between them as they both stepped into the shower and cleaned themselves off. It didn’t take long for them to shower and dress and refocus their newly cleared minds on Horcruxes, Gringotts, banding and Harry’s side project. In fact, they’d gotten so caught up in their work that they forgot to eat lunch and entirely lost track of time. If not for the soft chime of the alarm at 5:50 pm that she’d set as a reminder they would have likely missed dinner too. She felt content as she quickly packed up their notes and list of questions for Nasir before following Harry outside to head to the cottage. They decided to leave their tent in place this time, since everything that they needed was in the purse anyways and so they slowly made their way towards Nasir’s tent with the purse in hand. He stepped out before they got within twenty feet of his tent, he must have set several wards as they had, and he joined them in their stroll toward the cottage. She eyed him from the corner of her vision as he walked on her left like he’d done countless times before.

With the masking charm in place his injuries would be completely unnoticeable to anyone who didn’t _know_ him – which meant everyone except for her and Harry. She fought the urge to smile like an idiot once more as she intertwined her fingers with Harry’s and felt a warmth flood her heart.

This felt right.

This felt like hope.

She didn’t care what Nasir asked from her and she wasn’t afraid. She knew deep within her tarnished soul that somehow; things were finally going to be okay. When they reached the cottage they slowed and Harry dropped her hand to move toward the door. Before he could enter and before she followed him inside Hermione turned around to look up at Nasir once more and smiled.

“Thank you for coming back,” she said quietly, though she knew that Harry would be able to hear her as he stood with one hand on the door handle. “I know you didn’t have to; you could have gone anywhere, and I would have understood that even if I spent years thinking you were dead and by chance ran into you later. But I’m glad you decided to come back to us – I hope you know that you’ll always have a place here and that we’ll always welcome you.”

Nasir’s lip twitched as he looked down at her and his dark eyes glinted.

“I appreciate that, Hermione,” he said slowly before taking a small step toward her. “I know you would never ask it. So perhaps my clarifying it now will ease some of the stress that you carry – I will follow you and Harry until this is over.”

Hermione felt her heart swell and without thinking she closed the distance between them and hugged the man for the second time that day.

“Thank you,” she murmured into his chest as she gripped him tightly and heard Harry thank the man from behind her. She felt his right arm circle around her body and pat her back twice before his deep voice rumbled above her.

“I believe everyone is waiting for us,” Nasir said quietly and Hermione nodded and stepped away.

“Alight,” she said and she ran a finger under her eye to brush away the single tear that threatened to fall. She turned back to Harry and smiled at the soft look he was giving her. “Let’s get this over with. We still have training at 7 pm – it’s going to be a long night.”

Entering the cottage with Nasir behind them felt much like how it did when she and Harry had returned from the barn with Fleur on Monday. The entire kitchen went quiet and all eyes darted to the tall tanned man who lingered behind them and waited to follow their lead. Hermione’s eyes scanned the large crowd – from Fred, George and Liza’s curious expressions, to Shacklebolt’s smile, to Fleur’s beaming grin, to Bill and Ron’s tired smiles and Luna’s gentle one, to Dean’s wariness, to Mrs. Weasley’s cautious yet sympathetic eyes, and finally to Remus who stood from his seat along with Arthur and Ava. _Everyone_ was there and everyone looked like they wanted to say something.

But Arthur spoke first.

“Nasir,” Arthur spoke sincerely as he moved away from the table and crossed the room towards them. “I owe you an apology – and a thank you.”

“That is unnecessary,” Nasir said evenly as Arthur came to a stop just two feet before him.

“On the contrary,” Arthur’s brow pinched in pain and he shook his head. “You saved my life – you saved Remus and Ava and without you we never would have rescued Liza or the others. And I did not treat you with the decency that you deserved. For that I’m sorry. I’ll never be able to repay you for what you did.”

“Really Arthur,” Nasir said quietly and for the first time ever the man displayed a hint of discomfort as his eyes shifted to Hermione’s briefly before moving back to Arthur’s. He usually blended into the shadows when around the other Order members and had certainly never looked for attention – he didn’t seem to like it getting it. “Don’t worry about it.”

Arthur exhaled hard and shook his head before lowering his voice. “Well regardless of what you think, I think we owe you – hugely for what you did. Please know that you’ve more than earned yourself a place in the Order and we will be here if you should ever need anything.”

Arthur extended his left hand, clearly remembering that Nasir was missing his right one. The tall dark man stared at it for a long second before slowing extending his to take Arthur’s and giving it a firm shake. Then the room behind them exploded with chatter once more as Fleur tried to direct the attention back to the food and asked who wanted what. Hermione, Harry and Nasir made their way to the table behind Arthur. Hermione and Harry both took their usual seats at the end of the table and watched as Remus made his way over to Nasir before the man could sit down, Remus muttered something quietly and shook Nasir’s hand much like Arthur had.

The entire time Ava remained standing before her chair watching the exchange until Nasir’s gaze finally shifted to hers and he gave her a small nod. The woman’s eyes welled instantly, and she nearly knocked over her chair as she made her way over to him. She paused in front of him only briefly before she grabbed him in a tight hug and Hermione smiled as she watched the awkward scene unfold – Nasir stood stiff as a statue under her hold as she hugged him and thanked him for saving her life. It lasted for ten long awkward seconds until Ava finally pulled back and began wiping away her fresh tears. She naturally lifted her left arm to wipe her eyes and then groaned out adorably when she realized that her hand was missing.

“Ugh I keep forgetting about it,” Ava laughed awkwardly as she used her right hand to finish brushing away the tears as she looked up to Nasir.

Her eyes travelled over his tall frame down to his obviously missing right hand. He’d not bothered to hide it and the silver scar on his stump was clearly visible since it stuck out of the buttoned cuff of his black dress shirt.

“Look,” Ava smiled teary-eyed and held up her left arm. The fabric of her sweater had been rolled up and sewn shut an inch or two below where her arm now ended. A small laugh left her lips as she grinned at him. “We match – together we have one full set.”

Hermione smiled and she felt Harry touch her leg gently beneath the table – and unbelievably, Nasir’s lips twitched into a small smile as he looked at the woman before him.

“Well I should let you eat,” Ava blushed as she moved away from him. “But after dinner I want you to meet my son – after all, without you who knows what would have happened to him.”

She left him to return to her seat next to Remus and Nasir finally managed to take his own chair after Shacklebolt made his way over and they exchanged muttered words. Hermione could hear Liza whispering to Fred and George on her right, asking who the ‘ _tall man’_ was while Fleur and Mrs. Weasley began passing bowls.

Dinner was noisy and boisterous as seemed to be the norm now and a part of Hermione wished that she could just eat outside with Nasir and Harry like how they used to after training – but she forced that thought from her head because she knew that this was good for her even if it was a bit painful.

After dinner Ava, true to her word, held up a nervous-looking Charlie before Nasir and introduced the two. Charlie waved at him and Nasir nodded – which earned him a small nervous smile from Charlie. Then Hermione introduced him to Fred and George, and the twin’s curiosity was immediately piqued by the mysterious man. They asked him a barrage of questions and did not seem in the least bit deterred that Nasir simply stared at them and didn’t answer the majority of their queries – if anything it only seemed to fuel their fire more.

Eventually Bill made his way over to tell Nasir that he was going to add him to the wards and he shooed the twins away. Hermione saw Luna introduce herself to Nasir after Bill went to help Harry summon the sticks that they’d gathered earlier that day to set-up for training outside since the rain had stopped and Hermione was pleased to see that Nasir shook the small witches extended hand without hesitation. He also shook Dean’s when Luna introduced the two – though Dean seemed far less okay with it than Luna had been.

Mrs. Weasley was last to make her way over to the tall man and she brought an excited and nervous-looking Liza with her. Nasir politely greeted both of them and Liza even thanked him for helping with the rescue. Fleur murmured to Hermione in the kitchen that they’d decided not to tell Liza about her family today given the late-night evacuation and apparition fiasco – but that she would tell the girl the following day. Hermione felt her heart sink at that, but she knew it was something that needed to be done and the longer they left it the harder it would be.

It didn’t take long for Nasir to weave his way outside and away from the crowd. Though his escape went unnoticed and for several long moments it seemed like no one even realized that he’d left. Hermione fought back a knowing grin as she finished helping Fleur and Ron in the kitchen – reviewing the potions that they’d started that day and catching up on what had happened with Colin and Shacklebolt at the barn before heading outside. Ava, Liza and Charlie went back upstairs to their room to play games and everyone else marched their way outside to practice.

Hermione immediately spotted Nasir leaned against the wall of the cottage in his usual fashion – though she wasn’t sure if anyone else knew he was there. It seemed like he was quite done with socializing and was happy to be back on the sidelines and away from curious glances. She and Harry quickly split the group into two and began running their usual drills. They didn’t bother teaching anything new since everyone was tired from the supply run the night before, the evacuation in the morning and people seemed distracted in their own minds with everything that had happened.

So when it started to grow dark just after 9:30 pm they called it a day and sent everyone home to get a good night’s rest. They were going to need it – especially since Arthur, Remus, Liza and Ava would all be transforming Saturday night.

On the walk back to their tents Hermione held Harry’s hand once more, the content and calm feeling still filling her chest as she played the events of that day through her mind. Harry’s firm grip and Nasir’s presence at her side made it feel like she didn’t have a rune on her chest at all. They all said goodnight before they split toward their own tents and Hermione found that sleep began to hit her before she even got to their bunk. It took everything that she had to brush her teeth and wash her face before climbing in and snuggling into Harry’s side. She didn’t even remember him turning out the lights before she fell into a deep, calm and natural slumber for the first time in months as she listened to the calm and steady heartbeats of everyone in her head.

-x-x-

Harry laid there staring at the ceiling. He could tell from Hermione’s deep slow breathing that she was fast asleep, her arm was draped over his chest like a reassuring weight and the warmth from her small body made his heart ache with what he was about to do. He’d been lying there for an hour – waiting until he knew that she was deep enough into her sleep cycle that she would not wake if he moved. He’d learned over the last few months from trying to sneak out of bed to go to the washroom that if she was in her usual light sleep she would wake up at any movement he made – and on the rare occasion she actually fell into a deep sleep, she’d be dead to the world about a hour in.

He shifted his head and looked toward the mess of curls on the pillow beside him and his heart only ached harder.

He’d made a promise.

He’d swore to himself that he’d never lie to her.

Yet here it was nearly midnight and he was sneaking out of bed to go do the very thing that he’d promised her he wouldn’t do, along with something else he felt like he needed to do now that Nasir was here once more. He carefully slid out from under her arm, creeping off the end of the bed instead of trying to crawl over her (which he’d also learned in the past was a mistake) and silently transfigured his pajama pants to jeans while he summoned a sweater and tugged it on. One minute later he had his boots on and was trudging his way across the sand towards Nasir’s tent.

A small voice in the back of his head told him to turn around and just go back to bed but he ignored it. The truth was – he didn’t trust Hermione _and_ he didn’t trust Nasir.

Harry trusted her with everything.

He trusted her with his life, he unquestionably trusted that she loved him and had no interest in that man or anyone else – but he did not trust that she would keep her promise.

He _knew_ that she would seek him out for help, it was only a matter of time, and with Nasir’s interest in her it was deeply concerning. The man’s bizarre fascination with Hermione had always made him uneasy, but now Harry was deeply worried about what the man might ask for if she tried to strike a deal. Harry had ignored and dropped the topic before because – well because the man had died – but now that he was back Harry wanted to know what it was that Nasir wanted from them. More specifically, from Hermione.

The man had said that he would follow them until this was over – though Harry knew that what Nasir really meant was that he’d follow _Hermione_ , he’d included Harry’s name to throw him a bone in an effort to make his interest seem more balanced. But Harry wasn’t stupid, he knew where he ranked and he knew Nasir’s interest was focused on Hermione.

What he wanted to know, _needed_ to know – was what would happen after the war?

What happened when this was done – what would Nasir ask for or try to take?

He’d never had the opportunity to ask the mysterious man anything in private before and now he was sitting less than 200 feet away. Harry _had_ to go to him. He needed to know the man’s intentions and he needed to be the one to break the promise first. He needed to make sure that _he_ was the one to strike the deal to ensure _her_ safety and not the other way around because deep down he knew that at the very end – it would be him.

It was _always_ going to be him, and he felt like he’d known it his whole life but repressed it deep down. Thought it wasn’t until recently that he finally felt like he _might_ understand _why_ it had to be him, and it had been eating away at the back of his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Killing Ariel with _Avada Kedavra_ the day before had been what made his concerns leech back up to the surface with new gravity when the weight of her death dropped on his chest like a boulder. He’d not told Hermione this – but casting the spell had felt familiar, as did the weight that collided with his heart.

He’d never known it before, he’d never been able to identify where or what the inexplicable hollow empty misery that riddled his body for years had stemmed from. He’d always just assumed that it must be normal or that it was a lingering side effect from his scar – that was, at least – until he cast the killing curse and felt the additional crushing weight added to his chest. It was heavier than the others that were already there – but they were _unmistakably the same_.

And now he thought he understood why. It was a detail that he planned to keep to himself until he was absolutely sure, but even then, he knew he probably still wouldn’t tell her. If his suspicion was correct – he knew what it meant, he knew what had to happen and he knew that Hermione would never accept it. He’d always known it was going to be him and denying it and hoping for a life outside of this war had apparently been a fantasy.

So, the only thing that he could do now was ensure her safety. Yet he was also very aware that this could go terribly – so he knew that he had to be careful in his approach. The last thing he wanted to do was chase away their mentor.

He made his way silently through the darkness until he crossed through what must have been a set of Nasir’s wards because suddenly he heard the crackle of a fire and saw the glow of a faint light on the far side of the tent. His steps slowed and he forced his heart rate to remain steady as he moved across the short distance and made his way around the tent toward the warm glow. He stopped completely when a small campfire came into view and he saw Nasir sitting on the ground beside it burning what looked to be small leaves and placing the ashes into tiny vials.

“Hello Harry,” Nasir’s low rich baritone filled the air though he didn’t bother to look up at him. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if the man had charmed _their_ tent to know when they came and left but he didn’t let himself think about that now and he stayed focused on his task.

“Hello Nasir,” Harry said quietly as he took a few more slow steps toward the fire.

“Can’t sleep?” Nasir’s eyes flicked to him before returning to what must have been some kind of ingredient prep.

“Something like that,” Harry muttered as he came to stand before the fire just a few feet to Nasir’s left.

“Take a seat,” Nasir said evenly.

Harry got the distinct impression that it wasn’t a command and that if he wanted to, he could turn around and walk away and Nasir would never bring up his presence or mention his midnight stroll to anyone. At least that was a promising start – but he didn’t want to walk away. He had questions and he needed answers.

So Harry sat, taking a seat in the dry sand three feet to Nasir’s left and watching quietly as the man burned another leaf and dropped the ashes into the vial. The wind rustled his hair as he thought of how to start and Nasir remained focused on the task before him – seemingly completely comfortable and indifferent to his presence regardless of whether or not Harry decided to speak. Finally, after three more leaves Harry decided to try opening with something neutral.

“You turned your arm into a wand,” Harry said quietly, his eyes fixed on the man’s precise motions as he worked.

“You read my journal,” Nasir said evenly as he continued to work.

“Not all of it yet, but we got to that entry,” Harry replied. “But the runes on your arm suggest that you might have implanted two cores – yet your research didn’t hint that a rune carving would be required for such a procedure.”

Nasir’s motions paused and his eyes shifted to Harry. Even with the flickering glow from the fire Harry could tell that he’d sparked the man’s interest and he could make out the unique shine that seemed to radiate from the man’s eyes when you’d captured his attention.

“And what makes you think those runes are related to wand cores?” Nasir asked him, his hand still holding an unburned leaf.

“Not just the placement, but the runes themselves,” Harry said, and he twisted to face Nasir fully. “They’re based on partnership and union – you chose Ehwaz and Gibo – was that because two wand cores cannot exist within one body at the same time?”

“They cannot,” Nasir’s eyes darkened, and Harry watched as he set the small leaf on fire and dropped the ashes into the vial. He sealed the vial then twisted to face Harry fully, apparently done with ingredient prep and instead ready to engage in conversation as he spoke again in his familiar low rumble. “But I _wanted_ two.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

Nasir’s head cocked to the side as he looked at Harry and his lips twitched as if the question was amusing.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Nasir said quietly. “Surely you know that certain wand cores are better suited for certain types of magic, Harry.”

“Yes – and that makes sense,” Harry nodded as the cool breeze from the water ruffled his hair once more. “What two cores did you pick?”

“I believe that Hermione can confirm that one is a phoenix feather,” Nasir said with a small dark smile. “The other – well why don’t you tell me what you think it might be.”

Harry stared at him for a long moment, his mind circling through the wand lore information he’d read about that afternoon before he smiled at the man before him. “A dragon heartstring.”

“Good answer,” Nasir picked up the vials from the sand and wordlessly sent them toward the tent entrance.

“My original wand was broken,” Harry said quietly, his eyes drifting to the fire as the cold breeze ate through his sweater. “It was a phoenix feather – I want to insert it in my wand arm.”

“A wise choice given what you’re planning to do.”

Harry’s eyes darted back to the man and he saw that Nasir was looking at him somewhat intently.

“It would be _unwise_ for you to get within a mile of that man without a wand suited to your magic, Harry,” he said quietly. “In that scenario, you will unquestionably lose.”

“Are there any scenarios where I don’t?” Harry asked him almost dryly, a tone of dark acceptance and seriousness lacing his voice.

“Perhaps,” Nasir’s eyes traced over his frame and Harry felt like the man was staring into his soul. Like he could read every thought and every concern that Harry had about the war and what was to come. Like the man before him knew _exactly_ why he was here and exactly what he was concerned about.

Silence stretched between them and suddenly the words fell from his mouth without him even realizing that he’d said it.

“What's your interest in Hermione,” Harry’s voice was low, serious and he saw Nasir visibly shift on the sand before him. Something new was glinting in his eyes but Harry wasn’t really sure how to categorize it – all he knew was that it suddenly felt impossibly quiet and something in the air had shifted between them.

“To protect her,” Nasir said quietly. “Nothing else – I assure you Harry.

“Why?”

“Does that matter?”

“It does to me,” Harry whispered firmly. It felt like if he spoke any louder he would be screaming into the vacuum that had enclosed around them. “She loves you, you know – in the same way that she loves everyone else in that cottage. You’re a part of this group now. She'll protect you, she'll put herself in harms way for you, and she’s going to offer you anything and everything that she has to get you to help her save me – and I'm not going to lose her in this. No matter what happens, no matter what I have to do – she's going to make it out in one piece one way or another. And I can’t risk any uncertainty because the situation we’re in is bad enough – the odds are already stacked against us. And as much as I appreciate your help, Nasir, in some ways – even after pledging to stick with us you're still an uncertainty. I won’t let you take anything from her even if she offers it. So I want to know why – I need to understand why so I can know whether or not you’re going to use her later.”

Nasir stared at him intently, still as stone and for a terrifying moment Harry thought he might have just signed his own death note. But then Nasir’s shoulders relaxed a fraction and his eyes shifted back to the flames on his right. When he spoke, Harry felt his breath hitch in disbelief.

“She reminds me of me – from a long time ago. What feels like several lifetimes ago now,” he said quietly. Something that could only be described as a half-smile crept across his lips as his eyes shifted back to Harry. “She has the capacity to become the greatest magical being the world has seen in a long time – even better than you, Harry.”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak and wanting Nasir to continue. Besides – it was true. He knew it and so did anyone else with half a brain who looked at the girl. She was a genius, but it wasn’t all book smarts. She had the discipline to train and focus even in the areas that didn’t come naturally to her and as a result she was formidable. Given enough time and resources she might one day outdo the likes of Dumbledore.

“I simply want to ensure she becomes that,” Nasir said quietly. “ _Without_ needing to make the same sacrifices that I did and without becoming a puppet or a tool for someone else.”

Nasir had spoken so quietly Harry had leaned forward with his elbows on his knees to make sure that he wasn’t imagining the words. But the next ones completely stole his breath and caught him entirely off guard.

“Not all of us are born free Harry,” Nasir said slowly, his voice holding a hint of hesitancy. “We don’t all make good choices. We don’t all do the right thing when desperate, not all of us are able to protect the ones we love – and some of us make poor decisions after we fail. I’ve decided that I would like her to succeed where I did not.”

Harry stared at the man for a long silent moment while he reminded his body to breath. This was the first time that Nasir had ever said anything that could be categorized as personal and it was not at _all_ what he’d been expecting. It sounded like the man might have been born into slavery, or that at some point he’d found himself in a rather tough situation. Harry’s mind subconsciously flicked back to the roman numeral tattoo on the base of Nasir’s neck and he felt his stomach lurch as his head swam. These two tiny pieces of information when placed together suddenly seemed to make some of the bizarre aspects about the mysterious man click into logical place.

“Who is Nazira?” Harry whispered.

Nasir shifted on the sand once more and his eyes flicked back to the fire.

“My mother.”

Harry felt his heart clench. “She didn’t make it?”

“No,” he said tonelessly. “None of them did, but I assure you that I will not fail this time.”

“And Arlo,” Harry said slowly. “He–“

“Was much older than you realize and has been protected for decades under his watch completing many similar exploits.”

“So – why didn’t you just assassinate him and leave?”

“Good question,” Nasir said flatly, his eyes still locked to the fire. He didn’t say anything else and Harry assumed that he either didn’t have an answer or wasn’t willing to share it.

“So you’re going to help with the war?”

Nasir nodded slowly.

“So you can protect Hermione?” Harry asked, his voice sounding somewhat disbelieving.

Nasir looked back to him. “People have done far more for far less.”

Harry looked at him curiously for a moment. He believed everything that Nasir had said, but he still felt like some key details had been glossed over or completely omitted. There had to be some other underlying motivation outside of just wanting to help Hermione. Nasir had been a clear neutral party – apparently for a very long time – and now suddenly decided he wanted to get involved and fight in the war?

“So when this is all over,” Harry said slowly. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Nasir said slowly. His dark eyes were focused on the fire once more and they reflected the flicker of the flames like black glass. “And everything. To be at peace – to start over.”

“What will you want from us?” Harry pushed.

“You mean, what will I want from Hermione,” his eyes shifted back to Harry as his low voice rumbled in the small space between them.

Harry said nothing and he didn’t bother denying it. They both knew why he was here, so he simply stared back at Nasir in silence until the man continued.

“To see her live. Whether you include me in that in some way or not – is up to you. I'm not a good person, Harry,” Nasir said quietly, almost sadly. “I don’t even possess the capacity to be one so don’t ever doubt that fact. I've done many terrible things and I do not regret a single one of them. I would do them all over again – I would do more, take more and give more if I could.”

He paused, watching Harry carefully before he spoke his next words slowly.

“But I will not take her from you if that's what you are concerned about. I have no interest in her in that way and I will not accept anything that she offers me.”

Harry remained quiet. He could feel his heart beating hard in his chest as the cool air nipped at his nose. Today was singlehandedly one of the strangest days he’d ever had in his life. He felt overwhelmed with the information that Nasir had shared with him, baffled that the man had shared it at all (especially with him) and saddened with the realization that Nasir had likely had a terrible life where the large majority of his decisions were made in an effort to save someone he cared about and yet he’d failed in the end.

While Harry didn’t know the specifics – he didn’t need to.

He understood what desperation to protect someone you loved felt like and he understood just how far it could push someone. He also got the distinct impression that Nasir had lost _many_ others, and that his initial assumption that Nasir was _incapable_ of feeling things might not be far off from the truth. He had a million more questions than what he’d originally come over here with but really there was only one that remained that mattered.

“I think,” Harry paused as he watched Nasir’s gaze flick back to meet his. “That if we all make it out of here – she would want you around. At least in some way, in the same way that she needs the others she needs you. They, _you –_ help keep her grounded, so she doesn’t slip too far.”

Nasir nodded once, his eyes locked to Harry’s as if knowing there was something else he wanted to say.

“Nasir,” Harry said slowly.

He could feel his throat constricting as he forced the words he wanted to say out of his mouth. He’d originally been intended to strike a deal, to make an _offer_ , and to ask Nasir to _save_ Hermione – and yet he found his words shifting into something slightly different. Something more like a confession based heavily on the concern that had started to fester within him after Hermione destroyed the locket and doubled when he’d killed Ariel – something that he suspected Nasir might already be aware of and it was the very reason why he hated the shape of his own _fiendfyre_ with a burning vengeance.

This was less of a deal and more of a request that he hoped Nasir would willingly accept.

“If – if things go wrong, or if there comes a time where – the _situation_ changes,” Harry hesitated with his wording, yet Nasir stared at him knowingly and waited silently for him to form his words. “You will take her if I ask you to. You will keep her safe and look after her. The others–“

Harry hesitated again and dropped his eyes to the dark sand before him. He couldn’t believe how hard it was to say this out loud – it wasn’t that asking for help was hard, it was that by saying it out loud he was finally acknowledging something that he’d always known and tried to ignore. It made it real.

He was going to die, and it had never bloody been in his cards to make it out of this war alive. He took a silent breath and continued quietly.

“They don’t understand her the way that I do – the way that I _know_ you do. They won’t be able to help her. They won’t understand everything that she’s been through and they _definitely_ won’t be able to keep her away from danger or stop her when I tell her she needs to leave,” Harry paused and slowly raised his eyes to meet Nasir’s burning ones. The man was stock still and looking at Harry with a serious expression, and Harry looked at him just as intensely. “She won’t be able to let me go when it’s time.”

The flames flickered as a large gust of wind rolled off the water and rippled the tent at their side. Yet Harry remained unmoving as he stared into Nasir’s black eyes and he felt a cold stone drop in the pit of his stomach. He knew.

“Do I have your word, Nasir?” Harry asked him, his voice dropping low as the shadows of firelight danced across the man’s face.

“You have my word, Harry,” Nasir’s low baritone made the weight on Harry’s chest lighten even though his heart ached like it was breaking into a million pieces. “When the time comes, I will do whatever you ask of me.”

-x-x-

Hi everyone, sorry for the delay on this chapter.

It seems like with the warmer weather my life has been getting busier _and_ we’ve gotten to a place in the story where the chapters are getting harder to write because there are more characters involved, the plot just keeps thickening and I want to do everyone justice. I had a few unexpected things come up this weekend that I just really didn’t have time for but needed to deal with. That said – going forward I think I need to be realistic about what I can accomplish and make some changes to my updates.

Either I switch to updating every two weeks and keep the chapter lengths the same – or I keep updating weekly but post less and reduce the chapter lengths down to what they were originally: between 5k-7k words. I’m leaning toward the reduced chapter length… let me know what you think in the comments.

Also – apologies to anyone whose comments I’ve not replied to yet. I promise you I’ve read them but it would seem that I’ve been falling behind on _everything_ and frankly my life is spinning and I’m feeling a bit spent this week so I’ve not gotten the chance to write you back. I’ll get there eventually (hopefully), just know that I appreciate the time you took to bother leaving me a message. If you ever seriously need to get in touch with me message me on discord!

(EDIT Update - I have resolved to focus on producing high-quality chapters over meeting a posting date. I will still try for weekly, but if I need more time then posting will be delayed)

Thanks for reading!

Come chat if you want to: https://discord.gg/Sps2fG

<3 Tori


	56. Chapter Fifty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training, Liza gets the news her parents are dead, and Hermione and Harry get some one of one training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Today we spend some time with the Order and get back into training and routine. Not sure what you’ll think of this one because I feel like not much happens (*sweats nervously*). Less action as Hermione and Harry develop a plan – but it sets us up for when the train we’re on continues to pick up speed. Hermione makes some progress with her fiendfyre today and Harry gets some mysterious one on one training.  
> 2\. Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Updates on Sundays +/- a few days. Things are crazy right now but I’m still trying for weekly.

Hermione had been expecting to see Fleur and Luna there for the morning workout routine. Heck, she’d even been expecting to see Ron standing there somewhat awkwardly – but what she had _not_ been expecting to see was Ava and Liza wearing sweats and t-shirts standing next to a set of rather bright-eyed and bushy-tailed looking _twins_ and a tired-looking Remus.

It was 7 am, so Bill, Arthur and Shacklebolt had already gone into work for the day in the hope of getting as much done as possible to reduce the risk of being called in over the weekend. Mrs. Weasley was already inside the cottage starting a batch of headache potion and pepper-up and apparently watching Charlie while everyone else (including Dean) were gathered outside the cottage stretching while they waited for Hermione and Harry to cross the sand towards them.

She’d never seen so many wizards in workout gear and it took effort not to laugh at the strange sight. Most wizards didn’t seem to _believe_ in physical fitness since they had magic and relied on it to complete anything _hard_ or _physically_ demanding. Quidditch players were about the only ones who seemed to recognize the benefit of staying in shape. Though she couldn’t really judge them – she’d be raised in the muggle world where it was promoted, and she’d never taken fitness seriously until just this year.

“Did you know that everyone was coming?” Hermione muttered to Harry as her eyes took in the large crowd before quickly darting to Nasir’s silent tent. She knew that the man was awake based on his heart rate but apparently, he had no interest in partaking in the physical workout routine and likely wouldn’t join them until later.

“Fleur mentioned that she’d tell everyone about it,” Harry muttered back. “But I wasn’t expecting them all to actually come.”

“Well,” Hermione said with a small smile as she glanced over at Harry. “This is a good thing – at least they’re taking things a bit more seriously now.”

Harry grinned back at her as they made their way over the last dune. “True.”

When they got a bit closer Hermione could make out the expressions on everyone’s faces. They ranged widely from sleepy, to excited, to apprehensive to – her eyes locked to Liza’s red puffy ones. Had Fleur told her about her family?

Neither she nor Harry said anything to the girl about it as they approached but their eyes flicked to Fleur’s. The blonde witch gave them both a sad look and a small nod, but she said nothing else so Hermione resolved to ask her about it once they were out of earshot of the girl who was standing between Ava and Fred looking tired, yet determined.

“Good morning,” Hermione said slowly as they came to a stop before the rather large group of misfits.

“Morning,” the twins said in unison with more energy than most of the rest of the group. “We can’t stay as long as everyone else because we need to get back to the shop – but we figured we could start joining in for at least part of it. So, where do we start?”

“That’s great,” Harry gave them a smile before his eyes flicked over the group. “We’re glad that you can come – in fact it would be best if you came to as much as you can. We usually start with a jog around the property. If you can’t keep up that’s okay, don’t push yourself too hard or overdo it. Injuring yourself won’t get you anywhere in the long run.”

“Just do what you can and go at your own pace,” Hermione said as she stood at Harry’s side and gave the group a warm smile. “When you’re done or can’t manage any more laps just come back here and stretch it out. We usually do a small set of exercises afterwards – we’ll show you what they are today so that in the future once you’re done with the run you can get started on the workout routine on your own.”

“Sounds good,” Ava smiled at them as the group nodded and finished up their stretching. She looked excited as she raised her half arm over her head and leaned to the side in a long stretch. “I’ve not been for a run in ages. With Charlie being so young and with no one to watch him it was too hard to get out. But he’s still sleeping right now so Molly offered to leave her uh, what do you call it, _patronus_ watching him for me so I could come join you – I’m excited to get back into it! There are only so many puzzles I can do.”

Fleur smiled at the woman as she tied her long blonde hair into a ponytail. “Just don’t force yourself to keep up with ‘Ermione and ‘Arry or tomorrow you will be more sore zan excited.”

Ava laughed and Luna grinned.

“Yes,” Luna said with a fondness lacing her voice. “And then we will have to bother Mrs. Weasley for more muscle cramp paste – I think we used a whole container between the four of us the last time.”

Even Dean and Ron laughed fondly at this and Remus looked around the group with some apprehension.

“This may have been a mistake,” Remus said with a wary smile. “I’m afraid I’m a touch more out of shape than the rest of you – maybe I should go and see if Molly–“

“Trust me – you don’t want to be anywhere near my mother when she is prepping a potion station, you’re much safer out here,” George gave Remus a firm pat on the back as he stepped up next to the man.

“Besides, Liza here has short legs – surely you can at least keep up with her,” Fred said as he gave the girl a wink and a smile.

The girl blushed as she looked up at him and then her brow furrowed into an adorable look of indignation. “I used to run cross country you know – I could run circles around you.”

“Oh yeah?” Fred challenged as he shucked off his sweater and threw it to the ground with a soft thump. His green t-shirt rippled in the light breeze.

“Yeah,” Liza grinned at him confidently and some of the strain around her eyes disappeared as she lit up at the brewing competition.

“Alright then,” Fred nodded. “If you can match my laps today, I’ll give you another chocolate frog.”

“Two chocolate frogs,” Liza said as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Because I’m going to _out_ lap you.”

Fred raised a brow at her and laughed. “Alright fine – you’ve got a deal. So, are we going or what?”

“We’re going,” Harry fought to keep his face straight at the exchange. “Alright everyone, follow us.”

With that Hermione and Harry turned and ran toward the Northern border of the cottage wards, setting a solid steady pace and glancing backwards to watch the group fall into line behind them. It didn’t take long for the order to naturally rearrange as people either immediately grew tired or decided to fall into their own comfortable pace. Ava, Liza and Fred joined them at the front while Fleur, Luna George and Ron set a reliable pace in the middle. Dean and Remus brought up the rear at a slow but steady pace and the sound of feet colliding with the ground echoed around them with the sound of the waves as they jogged over smaller pieces of driftwood and toward the large beach boulders.

In the end Remus and Dean completed one slow loop then returned to the cottage to sit in the sand and stretch out their muscles. Dean – still thin as a rail – seemed to be taking it easy and Hermione was glad that he had Remus to work with since they seemed much more aligned in terms of their physical fitness levels. She could see the boy nervously speaking to their old professor and in that brief moment she could almost see a shadow of his former confident self. Maybe speaking with Remus would help him – maybe he trusted Remus instinctively because he was a professor and it reminded him of easier and better times.

Fleur, Ron, Luna and George completed three laps at their steady pace before returning to the cottage to join Remus and Dean while Liza and Fred both kept up an impressive pace while throwing polite verbal jabs at each other about how they were going to win. In the end, Liza completed a quarter lap more than Fred and she made her way back to the cottage triumphantly where the redhead summoned his sweater from the ground, fished out two chocolate frogs from the pocket and handed them over to her.

Ava continued to keep up with Hermione and Harry for all three of their slow laps but didn’t join them in their next two double pace laps – instead she finished her fourth final lap at her steady pace and returned to the cottage red-faced and looking rather pleased with herself. She removed her sweater as well, laying back in the cool sand and seeming completely comfortable with having her half arm exposed to the group.

Hermione and Harry returned last, finishing the final several hundred feet in a mad dash that left them both gasping for air and covered in sweat. Hermione internally groaned at her sweater, eyeing the tank tops and t-shirts around her enviously and casting several rapid cooling charms on her clothes in an attempt to cool off. She wasn’t comfortable with stripping down to her tank top in front of the group and she’d not yet learned how to cast a masking charm. She made a mental note during their water break to ask Nasir how to do it later.

After a quick rest they dove headfirst into their usual fitness routine. Harry quickly explained to the group what they usually did and then everyone worked through it at their own pace. As expected, Dean and Remus quit first, but finished strong with a set of push-ups. Both of them looked immensely pleased with themselves as they sat off to the side away from the others and discussed the routine and what they wanted to improve on and Dean asked Remus what he’d been doing since leaving Hogwarts.

The rest of the group all finished at various times, though it was clear that Liza thrived on physical activity. If she’d been involved in cross country growing up Hermione didn’t doubt that she’d played other sports as well and she seemed eager to participate and keep up with the twins and Ava. While the girl was distracted Hermione made her way over to Fleur and lowered her voice to a whisper.

“Did you tell her?” Hermione’s eyes darted to Harry who was too far away to be able to hear them speaking clearly but was watching their conversation carefully.

“Yes,” Fleur murmured back to Hermione. “I was going to wait until zis morning but she asked me after training last night – she knew zat we all ‘ad a meeting after dinner so she wanted an update.”

“She seems,” Hermione paused and looked at the girl high-fiving Fred in-between a set of sit-ups. “Like she’s taken it surprisingly well.”

“No kidding,” Fleur muttered with a saddened small smile. “She cried last night – Ava told me zis morning zat she didn’t sleep well but – zis morning when she came down for breakfast, she had zis spark of determination in ‘er eyes. She said zat she refuses to give up ‘ope or to be sad about it. She said zat since Shacklebolt did not find ze bodies – zere is still a chance zey could be out zere somewhere. I told ‘er it was very unlikely and zat she should not get ‘er ‘opes up but –”

Fleur paused and looked at Liza warmly, the girl’s eyes were still puffy from crying through the night but there was a brightness to them. They shone with life that was pure and innocent and it made Hermione’s heart ache at the loss of her own naivety.

“She said zat she doesn’t care,” Fleur said quietly. “She said zat she knows zey are probably gone, but zat ‘er parents always taught ‘er to believe and stay positive. She is… quite ze kid ‘Ermione. She is very strong for being so young.”

“Well on one hand,” Hermione said slowly as she watched the young girl before them. “I’m glad that she is okay and is handling it well enough right now – but on the other we will need to keep an eye on her to make sure that she’s not repressing it.”

“Yes,” Fleur nodded. “Bill and I thought zat too – we will keep an eye on ‘er and be zere for her as she deals with it. She might just need more time to fully accepted it as I imagine right now, she is grieving on ze inside and is trying to be strong.”

Hermione nodded and carefully made her way back over to Harry and completed her next round of squats before shifting into the final exercise. It didn’t take long for most of the group to collapse completely in the sand panting with exhaustion while Hermione and Harry finished up their routine.

“Alright,” Fred groaned as he rolled on his side and pushed himself up from the ground.

“We gotta get back,” George finished as he followed his brother’s actions. “We’ll see you later for dinner and training.”

“Remember Liza, those frogs will jump away so hang onto them tight,” Fred ruffled the girl’s hair briefly before he stepped away from the group to apparate with his brother.

“I will,” Liza grinned at him. “I’ll see you at dinner!”

Several voices chorused out goodbyes while others simply raised their hands in a wave – too tired to say anything else as they continued to lay in the sand.

“Alright,” Hermione said as she pushed herself up from the ground. “Everyone should go get something to eat and rest up. Fleur – you already know the target practice and circle drill routines so if you want to practice them with the group go ahead, it would be a good thing to work on today. Harry and I need to go start the potion batches in our tent then meet with Nasir to train – but we’ll meet back up with you all for dinner.”

“Alright,” Fleur nodded and then looked to Luna. “Luna would you like to run a circle drill with me?”

“Of course,” Luna grinned as she hauled herself up from the ground. “Bye Harry – Hermione!”

“What’s a circle drill?” Hermione heard Liza ask as she walked back towards the tent with Harry. She couldn’t help but smile as she heard Luna start to explain the magical duelling drill to Liza and Ava and then encouraged them to stay outside and watch a few rounds. Once they were reasonably out of earshot Harry spoke.

“So, Liza is handling the news well it seems,” he said quietly as they cut across the sand.

“For the most part,” Hermione sighed and ran a hand through her hair. It was damp with sweat and she quickly tugged it from the braid and shook it out. Her brow creased with concern. “Fleur said she is refusing to give up on her parents because they didn’t find the bodies.”

“That’s concerning.”

“I know – but they’re going to watch her carefully to make sure that she is okay and deals with it. My biggest concern with her right now is that she’ll repress it and break later.”

“Maybe if she speaks to Shacklebolt about it directly – or maybe just given enough time to come around on the idea she’ll stop rejecting it and accept it,” Harry nodded with equal concern. “They say that denial is the first stage of grief – she’s handled everything else incredibly well so far so it seems fair that she is struggling with the death of her parents. Maybe we should talk to Shacklebolt about organizing a proper funeral or at least making some tombstones so she can have some sense of closure.”

“Yeah, that might be a good idea,” Hermione hummed. Her head darted to the right as she saw Nasir exit his tent and make his way toward them, she and Harry both paused to wait for him, and she called out when he’d gotten within earshot. “Good morning, Nasir – you missed the workout.”

His lip twitched and she could see the interest sparking in his eyes as he closed the distance toward them.

“What a shame,” he said flatly as he came to a stop before them. His dark eyes flicked between the two of them, taking them in with a swift glance in a way that still made Hermione’s body want to instinctively shiver. Though the new life that seemed to shine in his eyes had lessened the effect some.

“Yes, you seem really upset about it,” Harry smirked with amusement at the dullness to Nasir’s tone. “So – what’s the plan for training today?”

“We’ll go through the questions that you had on the journal first. Then, Harry – I will train you while Hermione starts the potions. Hermione, I will train you after lunch while Harry finishes them. It is the most efficient way to complete training and get the brewing done that you require based on what Molly told me you are trying to accomplish over the next few weeks.”

“Alright,” Hermione smiled but she also felt her heart rate quicken with nervousness.

Neither she nor Harry had ever trained with Nasir alone or had even really ever been alone with him. Her eyes flicked to Harry and he gave her a serious and meaningful look. He clearly didn’t like the idea of them being separated for training and she knew why. He didn’t trust her not to try and make a deal – but he was smart enough to realize that Nasir was right. Splitting up training based on what potions were brewing and what needed to be done was unquestionably the most efficient way to train going forward if they wanted to be able to restock their potions and get everything else done.

There would be certain potions that didn’t require stirring or intermittent care that would allow them training days together with Nasir, so they would end up with a well-balanced mix of training, brewing and planning. It would also allow them to make better use of their training time so that Nasir could focus on them individually instead of one of them waiting patiently while the other received instruction. They could reserve joint training days for things like medical spells or group duel practice. Dividing up training would also afford them more time to research and it would give Nasir the time he needed to meet with Shacklebolt and do whatever it was that he worked on with the man – which was something that Hermione planned to ask him about later.

It was an incredibly efficient plan that would maximize everyone’s time and keep their best interests at heart, and she knew that Harry knew this – so she was not surprised when he nodded and agreed with Nasir’s proposal.

As they made their way toward the tent Hermione made a mental note that they also needed to find a time when Bill and Griphook were both available so they could set up regular discussions regarding the break-in. She planned to bring it up this weekend and to come up with some sort of organized agenda for the week. To some it might sound a bit absurd to plan each day so ‘ _by the minute_ ’ – but to her, it was what made sense, it helped keep her calm _and_ it was what was necessary.

Voldemort and his forces were hurting right now – they’d just been dealt a hard blow and now was not the time to sit back and relax. Now was the time to press ahead and keep the upper hand – especially since the Order did not seem to be under any additional scrutiny after the attack. Shacklebolt had mentioned the night previous during their training that they needed to keep pushing forward and develop a plan – and she fully expected that _that_ would be the number one topic of tonight’s meeting. They needed to figure out where else they could attack, what else could be done and how to do it within the next few short weeks before Voldemort and his forces recovered.

So, she wanted to go the meeting tonight prepared with what she and Harry planned to do, and ready to talk about where they would be spending their time and what they could reasonably offer the Order as support. She would obviously help them with everything and anything that she could – but she also needed to be realistic about their priorities and if Shacklebolt wanted to press ahead and potentially launch a full-scale attack on Voldemort and his forces – then Horcruxes were without a question the top priority item.

Otherwise the attack would be fruitless since Voldemort could not die yet.

Thus, she planned to mock-up their schedule for the upcoming week while brewing the potions as Harry trained. She would optimize it, create a timetable and schedule every detail that she could.

She couldn’t lie, she was excited to create the schedule. It was nostalgic and reminded her of when she was at Hogwarts mapping out study guides and review timetables for herself, Harry and Ron. She fought back a smile as they all made their way into their tent and took a seat at the table to get to work.

 _Yes_ , she thought as she brought over some water and tea and pulled out her notes and questions. _It is very reminiscent of school – except that no one is complaining because this time we are working to save our lives not get good grades_.

They spent an hour going through the questions that they had on Nasir’s journal – most of it centered around Harry inserting his phoenix feather wand core into his right arm, and they discussed and finalized the plan to do it. Hermione learned that Nasir had two wand cores – hence the runes on his arms, but that runes would not be required for the procedure on Harry. Nasir said that he would help them with it on Sunday morning after the werewolf transformation was completed since Harry would need to rest and avoid using his arm for 24 hours after the core was implanted. They all agreed and decided to meet at 9 am to complete the procedure – it would be the first item that Hermione worked into their schedule. Then Harry left the tent and headed outside with Nasir to train while Hermione gathered her notes and hauled them into the potions lab.

It felt like ages ago since they’d brewed anything in there and frankly she forgot how good their heat charms were to protect the rest of the tent from the steam and warmth – because after only an hour of brewing she stripped off her outer sweater and transfigured her pants into a pair of tight tiny shorts. It was boiling, her hair was piled on top of her head to keep it out of her face and off her neck, and she could feel a bead of sweat trickling down her back even with her cooling charms in place.

She sat there perched on the edge of her stool, quill twirling between her fingers as she re-reviewed the schedule she’d created for a third time.

“I think that’s everything,” she muttered as her eyes tracked down the page. She’d managed to schedule every potion that they wanted to make offset from what Mrs. Weasley was brewing so that they would have a better mix of potions available at all times. She’d scheduled in their hour and a half long workout first thing in the morning – but she bumped the start time up to 6:30 am so she and Harry could drill with knives. She determined their training schedule with Nasir – altering between individual training three times a week and group training twice, she had figured out proposed meeting times with Bill and Griphook for this upcoming weekend and the following Wednesday night. And she’d even managed to allocate time for dinner, lunch, and research – she paused when she got to the bottom of her schedule and her eyes flicked over the ‘ _additional notes’_ section that she’d added.

The next full moon was May 16th.

They would run out of food supplies on May 18th.

The majority of their potions would be brewed by April 28th as they only had so many ingredients to work with and they were currently running four sets of cauldrons – two here in the tent and two at the cottage by Mrs. Weasley – so their production rates were rather efficient.

And they were already approaching a week post den infiltration.

She frowned.

She wanted more time to prepare and more time to teach the Order how to defend and protect themselves so they would be stronger and better prepared. But it was a fine balance between that, resources and allowing Voldemort time to recover. Realistically they needed get _this_ done within the next three to four weeks if they wanted to maintain the upper hand and have the best shot at winning and avoiding further risk. She and Harry _had_ to find the remaining Horcruxes and destroy them.

They already knew that Nagini was likely the last one that they would face but there were still two others that they needed to get their hands on – and that was assuming that Voldemort hadn’t gone and decided to make more than the six that Harry had learned about through Slughorn’s memory. Based on the memory that Harry had seen and discussed with Dumbledore, Voldemort had asked Slughorn about splitting his soul into seven pieces – which they’d interpreted as six Horcruxes and one piece of soul for him to keep.

But there was no guarantee that there were only six. After all, he’d been resurrected from _something_ hadn’t he?

Was his current body made from the piece that was attached to Quirrell? Had Wormtail found it creeping about and created a body for it? Was the piece of soul that Quirrell carried from Voldemort’s original body? Was it leftover from the night that he’d tried to kill Harry? Or had he created yet _another_ Horcrux that Quirrell had collected?

For all they knew he could have made eight, or nine – or any number of them.

Harry had told her that Dumbledore was confident that it was just the six Horcruxes: the diary, the ring, the locket, the snake, and then the two other unknowns. But if Hermione was being honest, she was skeptical about whatever Dumbledore might have _guaranteed_ Harry at this point because so far Dumbledore had left them with nothing – no supplies, no direction, and he’d done shit all to actually _help_ them. Why he’d not told her anything before he died, or why he’d not left them some kind of note or letter – even an encoded one – was beyond her.

Surely the man had known that she could be trusted, right? He’d left her his book after all – didn’t that mean that he _knew_ that she would help Harry until the very end?

 _Apparently not_ , she thought bitterly.

She’d not said it outright to Harry because she didn’t intend it as an insult to him or his relationship with Dumbledore – but _she_ was insulted that Dumbledore had, evidently, not deemed her trustworthy. After all these years, after everything she’d done, the countless times she’d stuck by Harry when no one else would and the ridiculous number of times that she’d risked her life for him – Dumbledore hadn’t told her shit.

He obviously hadn’t trusted her enough to totally involve her and it hurt. Not only did it hurt – it had royally screwed them over and Dumbledore hadn’t treated Harry any better. He’d told Harry almost _nothing_ and even Harry recognized that – they’d talked about it the day before.

In a lot of ways – it sort of made her mad and it made her question what in Merlin’s name the old wizard was thinking.

But regardless of this they knew that one of the remaining two unknow Horcruxes was either in Bellatrix’s vault or that her vault contained something that would lead them to where the Horcrux was. Yet it still felt like they were on a wild goose chase after all this time and it was tiresome.

And she hadn’t even gotten to the additional note she’d captured about the Deathly Hallows based on what Xenophilius had said. If the man wasn’t lying, and she didn’t think that he was based on what Mr. Ollivander had said, Voldemort now had the Death Stick and either had, or was looking for, the resurrection stone as well. He was on his way to becoming the _Master of Death_ and the only small advantage that they had was that they were pretty sure they might have the invisibility cloak from the Hallows. She wasn’t sure – they’d talked about it the day before but neither one of them knew if there were other cloaks out there or if his was the real deal. It seemed odd that Ron had recognized it in first year and known that it was an invisibility cloak if it was one-third of the secret Deathly Hallows.

Then again – one could buy ‘ _invisibility cloaks’_ in Diagon alley for a hefty price – they were fabric charmed with disillusionment charms and they tended to fade out and stop working over time. Perhaps that’s what Ron thought it was, she’d seen them for sale before too so it made sense that as a small kid he would have drawn that conclusion or know what they were.

Maybe that _was_ what it was.

Neither she nor Harry had any expertise on the subject, and it turned out that researching invisibility cloaks the day before had been a complete bust. There wasn’t much information in the books that she’d packed, and they couldn’t exactly go to a book store.

She groaned and wiped sweat from her forehead as she quickly stirred the potions, reset her mental timer and then pushed the schedule aside. She was done with the first draft, there was nothing else to add or adjust at this point. She needed to review it with Harry and then cross-check it with Shacklebolt, Arthur, Bill and Nasir tonight.

She reached for her journal and began finalizing the calculations for the project that she and Harry had been interested in implementing for a long time now – a band that would allow them to communicate with each other by pushing thoughts through a stable bond via occlumency while allowing vital signals to flow through. She wanted to carefully design it so that control was limited and bound strictly to each end of the bond – i.e. Harry could control what information he sent but could not extract anything from her and vice versa. Not that she didn’t trust Harry in her mind – she did – but after seeing what Arlo had done she was painfully aware of how important it was to not abuse magical bonds and to keep them peaceful, safe and consensual.

She sighed as she looked over the page, but her mind went back to pondering her original thought regarding timing and the mess they were in. Yes, she wanted more time. But no, they really couldn’t afford it. The schedule was packed already and each day that ticked by was another day of innocent people suffering at Voldemort’s hands while his power grew.

Surely Voldemort knew when a Horcrux was destroyed – he must have felt it, or he must have kept tabs on them or tracked them or traced them in some way – it was only logical. She couldn’t imagine that anyone could be so arrogant as to create Horcruxes and then hide them away thinking they’d be safe unmonitored – she paused mid-thought and her brow quirked – then again… Voldemort might be _exactly_ the type of arrogant, egotistical wizard to do such a thing. He essentially paraded himself around like a god. She wasn’t sure that he was afraid or felt threatened by _anyone_ – and maybe that was his weakness. Maybe _that_ was how they won – by exploiting his own arrogance.

Yet even then, even _if_ he _didn’t_ know they were killing pieces of him yet he was bound to find out soon enough – and then what was to stop him from taking the remaining ones and hiding them away more securely.

Or making more.

 _No,_ she thought as her brow furrowed.

As much as it terrified her, as much as she hated it – they had to push forward, and it needed to be swift and perfectly executed. They needed to take advantage of his arrogance and catch him off guard. They needed to get into Gringotts as quickly as it was reasonably safe to do so. Then they needed to try and find the last Horcrux as quickly as possible. She pinched her brow as she made another adjustment to the calculation before her and pulled her lose fitting tank from her body to fan away some of the heat. Maybe they should just ask Nasir about it – it was possible he might know where one was or maybe how to find one. Then again – even if he did know he might not tell her.

She let out a sigh.

She treasured the man; she truly did. And yet even she could not properly articulate why or how the feelings had even come to form in her heart. Especially when she couldn’t deny that she _wished_ he would just tell them more and often found his silence a bit deflating if not outright disappointing. She accepted him yes, but it was still frustrating at times.

She always felt like he knew more than anyone else in the room but chose to say nothing.

A part of her wondered if it was by choice and a part of her wondered if it wasn’t. She’d seen the runes on his neck – _Nauthiz_ , _Ansuz_ , _Isa_ – she knew what they represented. Resistance, communication and stillness or obstruction of flow. Runes always had multiple interpretations and meanings which was why so many wizards stayed away from the subject and struggled to understand them or their purpose – but even within the multiple meanings they all had a similar theme. And the ones on Nasir’s neck suggested a controlled blockage. It suggested that he might _literally_ be incapable of speaking certain things. The question was, how much of what he _didn’t_ say was locked away versus how much was just him _intentionally_ keeping it at bay.

She had a feeling that she would never know and oddly – she accepted that too. Maybe some things were better left unknown.

The truth was that regardless of him being flawed and nowhere near perfect – he was still exactly what they, _at this moment,_ needed to win this war. Shacklebolt knew it too – which was probably why he’d brought the man in to help in the first place and it was why Shacklebolt had welcomed Nasir back to the group after the den infiltration. Nasir was part of the Order now because Shacklebolt and Arthur said so – even without Hermione and Harry vouching for him the Order intended to keep him around for as long as he’d stay. The irony wasn’t lost on her that some of the Order members now trusted the man more than she and Harry did when less than a week ago they wanted him gone.

But even though she considered the man her _friend, ally_ and _mentor_ – he was still a complete mystery who she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust in every facet of the word. It was a strange dynamic to have with someone who had become so integral to their life. But even while knowing this she and Harry continued to do what they’d done since the very first day they’d met him – they consciously chose to look past his flaws and take whatever he would give them, all well being perfectly aware that it could _still_ bite them in the ass.

It was an odd feeling to trust someone and care for someone even when you didn’t fully know who they were or what might happen in the end – even when a part of you knew that they might hurt you later.

Perhaps it was a testament to just how committed and ready she was to sacrifice everything for this war to ensure that _everyone else_ stood a chance at a better life free from Voldemort and the hatred that he bred. No, she didn’t want to die, and yes, she hoped that she and Harry would live through this – she would fight for that with every essence of her being.

She _wanted_ to move into Grimmauld Place with him after the war. She _wanted_ to clean up the house with him, she _wanted_ to plant a garden, she _wanted_ to finish her NEWTS – to build a life, figure out who she was outside of all this, with him, and she wanted to allow herself to think about all the hopes and dreams that she’d buried down the instant that she grabbed Harry and Ron’s hand at the wedding and apparated them away – but she was also ready to accept whatever would come and she understood that war had sacrifices. Or, maybe being able to both trust and not trust while caring about someone was just a clear indication that she’d developed some deep phycological issues in the last year.

She snorted and dragged her rune textbook across the potion lab workbench to double-check if she should swap out _Eihwaz_ for something else for the third time – she wanted to be sure that the bond was successful after all.

“Who knows,” she muttered under her breath as she pushed the useless thoughts out of her head. Dwelling on them wouldn’t get her anywhere – she’d already made her decision to do whatever was necessary and to accept help where it was offered. All she could do now was push forward, stay focused on the task, work hard, help train the others, continue to prepare and hope for the best while bearing the weight of the burdens that she carried.

“I think you know.”

“ _Fuck_!” Hermione cursed and jumped at the low deep rumble that sounded behind her. She nearly fell off the edge of her stool as she twisted around to see Nasir standing less than a foot behind her, she hadn’t heard him come in – she hadn’t even heard her ward go off. Which made her wonder if he’d bypassed them somehow or if she’d simply been so distracted with her work and thoughts that she’d not noticed it. His eyes watched her reaction with interest. “You scared me – you’re lucky I didn’t attack you.”

His lip twitched at her words and he took a step closer, coming to a stop directly at her side before the workbench and tapping his finger on her current calculations. “This is fine, and you know it – you’re doubting yourself.”

“I’m not doubting myself,” Hermione said as she twisted back around on her stool to look at the calculations with him. She tried to dampen the defensiveness that naturally leaked into her voice. “I’m cautiously and due diligently re-checking my work. You saw firsthand what can happen if bonds are either abused or created unbalanced – and I’m sure as hell not going to band Harry with something like that.”

“And what did your due diligence check show?” Nasir asked her, his dark eyes shifting back to hers.

“That it’s fine,” Hermione muttered as she dropped her quill on the table.

“Then stop wasting time on it – besides, if you want to do a true due diligence check you need a peer review. Self-check only goes so far.”

“True – did someone peer check your journal and the experiments and research that you did?” Hermione asked him, happy to take the opening that he’d created to try and learn more about him.

“On occasion,” he said evenly, his eyes raking slowly over her face as if he was trying to search for something. Maybe he was looking for an ulterior motive.

“Who?”

“Does that matter?” he asked her in his usual deflective way that she’d come to anticipate.

“No,” Hermione said flatly. Even though she knew it was coming she wasn’t entirely able to avoid feeling some disappointment at getting shot down. “I was just curious who _you_ would trust to check your work.”

Nasir stared at her for a long quite second.

“An old colleague,” he said finally, and Hermione felt her heart quicken with excitement over him choosing to share something with her.

“Really?” she arched a brow curiously. “From the Ministry? Do you still keep in touch?”

“No – they’re dead.”

“Oh,” Hermione said slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Nasir said evenly, his face entirely indifferent. “I was the one that did it.”

“Oh,” Hermione said again, and she felt the heat of the room growing tighter around her. It wasn’t like she didn’t know that he was capable of killing someone, she’d _seen_ him kill people – but the complete detachment on his face suggested that he didn’t feel an inkling of emotion toward the subject. Toward a colleague that he’d killed. It made her wonder just how many lives he’d taken, just how many must weigh on his soul for him to feel _nothing_ towards it. She had killed people too yes, but she felt something toward it – constantly – it haunted her. And she found herself wondering how many more she would take and if it too would eventually leave her just as indifferent. Her mouth opened on its own accord and her next word fell out quietly. “Why?”

Nasir didn’t say anything, he simply stared at her and she felt her earlier thought bubble back up to the surface as she watched his dark expression.

“It’s because of the runes on your neck,” the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she saw his eyes darken further. “Arthur said that you used to be an Unspeakable – they sealed things, didn’t they? Those runes prevent you from speaking about certain things don’t they?”

“Indeed, they do Hermione,” Nasir said quietly as he stared at her intently. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. “Though in that situation, I can say that it was not without cause.”

As quick as the intensity had filled his eyes and the heated air around her had grown tight the pressure fell away and Nasir stepped back and moved toward the wards of the makeshift potion lab.

“Harry has returned with lunch,” Nasir said as he waited for her just outside the lab. “We can eat and then I will train you.”

“Alright,” Hermione nodded and slipped off her stool as she pushed away her curiosity and the lingering thoughts on body counts. She didn’t like thinking about it for long – because the truth was, she’d already lost count of her own.

She paused to close her journal and to give the two brewing potions one last counter-clockwise stir as her mental timer went off before she transfigured her shorts back into pants and grabbed her sweater off the workbench. Pulling it on over her head she followed Nasir toward the door of the tent.

“It is rather warm out there today,” Nasir said as he glanced at the thick sweater she’d just pulled on and ducked out of the tent. She followed him out the door, had another man said it she might have interpreted it as pervy, but not when it came from Nasir. She doubted he was capable of emotions like that _and_ he’d literally not even glanced at anything other than her face during their entire conversation inside while she sat there in a tank top and shorts.

“I know,” Hermione practically groaned as she walked into the hot afternoon sun behind him. _She_ was comfortable with her scars and she was comfortable with Harry and Nasir seeing them – heck she’d probably even be okay with Fleur seeing them since the girl had already seen a few of them after Malfoy Manor. But she was not comfortable with anyone else seeing them. Not because she was ashamed of them or embarrassed in any way – she’d long since gotten over that – but because she simply didn’t want to answer questions, get unnecessary sympathy or deal with curious lingering eyes.

And as a result, she was going to sweat buckets today, but even knowing that she smiled and waved to an exhausted-looking Harry who was coming back from the cottage with three plates of food floating in front of him. He grinned at her and waved back – he wasn’t covered in burns or singe marks so she wondered what they might have been working on all morning. She’d have to ask him later – especially since he looked rather pleased despite being worn out.

“Today we are going to push your _fiendfyre_ until it takes shape,” Nasir turned to look at her fully as they stopped on a dune and waited for Harry. “It is only going to get hotter – if you’re wearing that sweater simply to hide your scars, don’t – Harry and I warded this half of the beach before training this morning to avoid unnecessary concern – no one can see in. If you wear that sweater, you’re going to get heatstroke and lose time that could be spent learning – take it off.”

It wasn’t a suggestion; she could tell from the way that he was looking at her that it was an instruction. And if she was going to be spending the afternoon casting _fiendfyre_ today – he wasn’t wrong. She’d end up passing out.

“Really? You warded the whole half?” Hermione grinned as Nasir nodded at her and she felt relief and a strange sort of excitement flood her body. “Oh, thank Merlin.”

Hermione happily stripped off her sweater once more, dropping it to the sand unceremoniously and transfiguring her lose tank into a comfortable light-weight t-shirt. It felt weird to be standing outside in the open with her _mudblood_ and neck scars fully exposed for the world to see. Except that no one could see them – and that thought made her shoulders drop as she took in a deep breath and let out a sigh.

 _This feels nice_ , she thought as she smiled and revelled in the feel of fresh air moving over the bare skin of her arms. She felt like some of the weight on her chest had lightened as she stood freely outside for the first time in weeks and she could see Harry grinning broadly at her now as he approached in his damp sweat-soaked t-shirt. He looked excited to see that Nasir had told her what they’d done and that she’d finally rid herself of the sweater – she wondered if it was his idea after their workout this morning.

“Nasir,” she turned back to look at the tall man once more and he caught her eye. She liked that his gaze never once swept over the marks on her body. “Can you teach me how to cast a masking charm?”

“I can,” he said quietly, nodding in understanding. She didn’t doubt that he both understood and appreciated why she’d asked. “I’ll teach you after we get your _fiendfyre_ to take shape today.”

-x-x-

"Argg! Dammit!" Hermione groaned out in frustration as she cut off the fire before her and dropped her wand to her side.

She felt like crying. She felt like throwing something or giving up and going back to the tent in defeat. No matter how hard she tried, her _fiendfyre_ simply was _not_ taking shape and she was starting to feel like a failure. She could see Nasir standing off to the left watching her and she felt like he was wasting his time trying to teach her. Sweat dripped down her back, neck, chest, and arms – literally every part of her body was dripping, and her hand and forearm were red with heat burn from casting the spell more than a dozen times.

"It's not working," she panted and shook her head before glancing over to Nasir’s motionless frame. "I can’t get it to shift – I _don’t_ understand. I can control it; I can get it to do _anything_ that I want it to do and I can switch it on and off in an instant without issue now – but I _cannot_ get it large enough or hot enough to shift and take form."

Nasir stared at her for a moment before slowly making his way over.

"You understand what _fiendfyre_ is and what makes it so dangerous, right Hermione?" Nasir asked her when he came to a stop just a few feet away.

" _Yes_ ,” she said through clenched teeth as she fought back the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration and let out a string of curse words. She knew she wasn’t frustrated with him; she was frustrated with herself, but she was starting to struggle with keeping her disappointment and annoyance in check. "It’s dangerous because it’s chaotic and hard to control."

"Exactly," Nasir looked at her with a slight tilt to his head. "And what did you say just before that.”

“I said that I could control it and get it to do anything that I wanted,” Hermione looked at him with a quirked brow. She wasn’t sure where he was going with this yet but based on their previous lessons she knew he was leading her somewhere. “But that I can’t get it large enough to shift.”

“So, what part of the definition of _fiendfyre_ is missing from what you just described,” Nasir watched intently, his dark eyes taking in the shift across her features as his words sunk in.

She stared at him for a moment in disbelief. It couldn’t possibly be that simple.

“The chaos,” she said quietly, and she felt her shoulders sag as some of the frustration left her body. “There is absolutely no chaos.”

“Exactly,” he said more quietly this time. His eyes had darkened, and they were glinting with interest as he watched her almost curiously. “To be honest Hermione, the fact that you can cast and control it so well but cannot let it grow is quite astonishing. I’ve never seen anything like that before. _Fiendfyre_ is inherently dangerous because it is largely born out of chaos and _lack_ of control – that’s the very essence of it, and it’s what makes it nearly impossibly for most wizards to control. Casting it is easy – but it becomes the death of many since it immediately grows, takes on a life of its own and spreads out of control. For you control is not the issue. But it is the problem.”

“You’re saying I'm _too_ controlling when casting it,” Hermione watched as he shifted another step closer. “I'm not allowing any natural chaos in.”

“Precisely,” he said slowly, and a small smile began to form on his lips. She got the distinct impression that he was fascinated that _this_ was an issue for her. “Casting _fiendfyre_ , properly, and maintaining complete control of a large blaze requires you, the caster, to be in a perfect state between chaos and control. It is incredibly difficult to master and impossible for most, that's why people don’t use it – because they _can’t_. That's why Harry struggles to turn his off at times – he is not as controlled as you are and is much more likely to _lose_ his control. That’s why today I started to teach him something else that might be a bit better suited to him but is equally as effective in battle. But _if_ one can master _fiendfyre_ – it can become a tool more useful and dangerous than most realize, and it is a doorway to many other possibilities.”

“And you think that it’s suited to me?” she asked him skeptically.

“Yes,” his voice was even and low and there wasn’t a hint of doubt in it as he continued to watch her.

“Alright – okay,” Hermione breathed and let out a sigh. She pushed the loose curls that had broken free from her braid away from her face. “So then how do I allow more chaos in?”

“Let go,” Nasir said quietly, his low rumble filling the space between them. “But not too much. Think of it almost like a tap that you are turning on and off. Right now, yours is almost entirely closed by your control – but you need to crack it open. The best way to start is by letting it all out for a split second and then immediately cutting it off again so that you can feel the difference – so you can establish 100% and zero. Then you work to find a balance. That heat that you feel at your core when you’re casting it – that’s it, let that out for a fraction of a second.”

“Okay,” Hermione swallowed and nodded nervously. She shifted back into the uncommon duelling stance and raised her wand. She knew exactly the feeling that he meant, and it was _exactly_ what she’d been controlling and keeping locked inside since the first day he’d taught it to her. She took and deep breath and stared at the open dunes before her. “Okay, let it out – just let it out. I’ll try it.”

“Don’t be afraid of it,” Nasir said as he shifted a few feet back to give her room. “You already know that you can control it, you already know that you can turn it off – you've already accomplished what everyone else struggles to do. So, when it happens – you don’t need to panic.”

Hermione nodded again; her eyes lost on the scorched sand dune before her as his words echoed reassuringly in her mind. Theoretically she knew what she needed to do and logically she knew that he was right – she _knew_ she could turn it off. But that didn’t stifle the fear that naturally grew in her chest as she focused her mind and prepared to cast again.

That feeling that he wanted her to let loose was terrifying – it was like the embodiment of terror, fear and chaos in her chest and it scared her. In fact casting it now scared her more than it had before since she’d seen it – she knew what it could become and she knew how easily it could obliterate anything in its path. She felt like previously she’d not fully appreciated the destructive nature of it as it started to build within her whenever she’d spoken the words – and a part of her was almost paralyzed with fear.

Afraid to let it out and afraid to see just what might happen when she did.

She was afraid that she might not be able to regain control if she loosened her hold.

She’d been in awe when she’d seen Nasir’s fire burn the den to the ground, the roar of it, the heat, the intensity – she could still feel the energy coursing through the air that morning when she thought back to it. His blaze was on a totally different scale than the small insignificant fireballs that she and Harry had been producing over the last few weeks. His left _nothing_ behind – it’d been so hot that the bodies he’d burned hadn’t even become ash. And the idea of generating something _that_ massive and destructive – of _controlling_ something that lethal and catastrophic was both magnificent and terrifying to her.

Yet she forced herself to breathe, pushed the panic from her mind, and cast the spell – quickly letting out the raging storm within her and then clamping back down on it almost instantaneously. The wave of heat that washed over her body was overwhelming as the fire grew three times larger and she thought she saw something some sort of shape form before she cut the fire off in panic and stood there panting.

“Did you see that?!” she turned shakily to look at Nasir with nervous excitement. “I think saw something – but I – I couldn’t make it out, it still didn’t fully form.”

Nasir looked at her curiously once more. His eyes swept over her body once before she saw him nod to himself and move towards her. “I think I know what part of the problem is.”

“What?” she asked him as he stopped just a foot before her.

“Take the stance again,” he said evenly, and Hermione shifted back into the form that he’d taught her. He eyed her carefully, slowly circling her stance and examining her posture. She could feel her pulse quicken with anxious anticipation as she tried to figure out what the problem might be. She was one hundred percent certain that she was in the correct form he’d shown her previously.

“What is it?” she asked him again as he came to a stop before her. “Is my form wrong – I thought I had it right but –“

“May I touch you?” he asked evenly, his hand and blunt arm poised before him as he waited for her consent.

“Yes,” she nodded, maintaining her stance and watching him curiously as he shifted closer to her once more.

He gently nudged her left foot another half-inch forward in the sand with his boot, widening her stance and angling the toes of her foot more outwards. Then he circled around her body and she felt his warm forearm press into the center of her back as his opposite gripped her left shoulder firmly. He pushed forward into her spine, pressing her chest out further while he simultaneously pulled her shoulders back and down. She kept them there as his hand moved to her head and he tilted it upwards a fraction.

“I think,” she heard his low rumble behind her. “I know what shape your _fiendfyre_ is going to take and in your case – it needs a slightly different starting position and it needs to come from here.”

His hand left her head and wrapped around her body to tap the space just below her diaphragm gently. He kept his blunt forearm pressed into her back and then pushed two fingers gently into her abdomen.

“Look straight ahead and memorize the feel of this stance,” Nasir said quietly behind her. “Because this is where you need to start. Once it’s cast you can move around but until then this is your center.”

“Okay,” she resisted the urge to nod and kept her body perfectly still. She memorized the feel of every muscles in her body, the strain on her shoulders and the tilt of her neck as she stared straight out at the place where the sky met the sand – her eyes much higher than where she’d had them before. Her breath came deeper and easier with her chest pushed out and she could feel him pressing his fingers into what might possibly be the _middle_ of that chaotic feeling that built within her each time she used _fiendfyre._

“Take a _full_ breath, and let it build here before you let it out,” his words echoed by her ear and he increased the pressure of the two fingers on her abdomen so she could focus on it. “Try it again.”

“Okay,” she whispered as she fought back the instinctive nervousness building in her body at his instruction.

 _It’s going to be fine_ , she swallowed and forced her hand to remain steady as she prepared herself to say the words. _The area is warded. He’s right here. You can cut it off. It’s going to be fine._

“Hermione.”

“Yes?”

“Stop doubting yourself,” Nasir said quietly. “You can do this. Take a breath.”

Hermione inhaled deeply on his command and let the air out slowly.

“Again,” Nasir instructed, and Hermione complied without hesitation. “Now cast it – but this time don’t cut it off until I say so.”

Hermione took one last deep breath, her grip on her wand tightening as she looked at the horizon and uttered the words that she’d been saying over and over for the last hour. She felt the magic erupting to life in her center, right where his fingers were pressing as flames poured from the end of her wand. She watched them dancing across the dunes and scorch the sand in a single tight controlled tendril – fully constrained by her control as the storm of chaos built within her core.

Then, when it had grown into a raging heated chaotic storm, she let it out.

-x-x-

Hi Everyone <3

Thank you for the feedback on the chapter length and posting schedule – you are all so supportive and kind and it warms my heart. I think going forward my plan will be the following: to try and maintain weekly (though they might be a bit shorter) and (I know you will hate this one) if they’re not ready then they will not be posted until they are. I know that sucks… but like I said last chapter the story has really reached a critical point where things are about to get busy, crazy, fast and I don’t want to miss anything or sell any of the characters/plot short. I want to make sure I get everything captured just the way I want it :) Plus – I really don’t want to burn myself out or rush simply to get it ‘ _finished’_ because I don’t think that anyone would want that.

I want to end this strong so I’m going to do what I need to do to do that!

I will keep you updated though! For regular updates on the progress or to chat come join the group: https://discord.gg/XmpjJR

Thanks for reading!

<3 Tori


	57. Chapter Fifty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron grows, the banding trial is discussed and Hermione, Harry and the Order prepare for the full moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)  
> 2\. Friendly reminder... I have NO beta reader. I write, edit and post each updated in 1-2 days each week. There are mistakes littered throughout this story and while I am working to comb back through old chapters and fix them when I can - I am bound to miss a few. Please be patient with me, just some things slip through.
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Updates on Sundays +/- a few days. Things are crazy right now but I’m still trying for weekly.

Harry held back a sigh of exhaustion as he approached the one person at the cottage that he particularly did not want to speak to. Aside from the odd small split-second interaction here and there Harry had managed to all but entirely avoid the redheaded elephant and he’d wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. He didn’t _want_ to talk to Ron, and he didn’t want to lose his temper and explode on him again or punch the idiot in the face – not because it was undeserved, but because Harry had simply decided that Ron was not worth his time. He’d written Ron off a long time ago; he had no feelings towards him aside from general _disdain_ and he had no interest in wasting any additional energy on the boy. But it seemed that life did not work that way and he found himself in the position of needing to _speak_ to Ron about the fact that he was now untethered.

The truth was, he’d almost entirely forgotten about them – though obviously Ron had figured out what he’d done during their last altercation because the redhead had told Bill that he could not apparate away from the cottage during the evac without them first being removed. Harry held back a snort, what a mess that would have been had Ron _not_ figured it out and tried to leave. He could only imagine trying to explain that to Arthur and Mrs. Weasley – it probably would not have gone over well and he was sure they would have been rather upset. Yet he found the thought almost morbidly amusing – and he wasn’t sure what that said about him or who he’d become over the last year.

Either way though, thankfully he did not have to explain the death of the youngest Weasley boy to the Weasley family, nor had they needed to fully evacuate and torch Shell Cottage, so the situation had turned out okay from all angles in the end. Except for the aftermath – his current situation of needing to go and actually interact with Ron.

In all honesty Harry didn’t mind Ron being around the cottage anymore because both he and Hermione ignored him for the most part. He didn’t even mind that his ex-best friend had been showing up to training because at the end of the day it was good for him and it had been what the guy needed all along. His _lack_ of training was the very reason why they’d ended up inside Malfoy Manor and it was the reason why Hermione had nearly died and then lost her arm. If they could prevent something similar from happening in the future by training Ron and everyone else, then he and Hermione would do it with no question or complaint. Preparing everyone and protecting everyone took priority over everything else and thus he’d swallow down his dislike and train him.

Besides, Ron had proven to be not entirely useless in the last week. He’d had one good idea regarding supply collection, and he’d been doing a good job at making Ava, Liza and Charlie feel welcomed and included – which was important given that they would be spending the remainder of their lives in the wizarding community. And based on Hermione’s last assessment of them that looked like it would be a _long_ time. Both Ava and Liza seemed to respond well to magic and magical treatments so hypothetically, if they healed any outstanding injuries after each transformation both girls would live a long and healthy life now that the damaging stasis charm had been removed. Colin was still up in the air, he responded to magic as well, but the results were not as favourable. He would likely live for many more years to come but it was unclear if the lingering damage from the transformations would compound and cut his life short at some point.

But Ron being less unbearable didn’t mean that Harry _liked_ Ron – he simply tolerated the redhead’s existence. He certainly had no interest in having a _conversation_ with the boy again or rekindling any bonds of friendship. Ron was all but dead to him, he was just another warm body in the cottage that took up space, ate the food and added the odd helpful suggestion. He felt like a stranger, and his odd recent behaviour was only making that feeling grow more and more.

Over the last week Ron’s demeanour had shifted. Harry had noted that Ron watched them closely now – well, he’d always watched them closely since his return but now it was different. Instead of hatred, disgust and an unwarranted vibe of betrayal flashing in his eyes Harry saw curiosity, interest and something that looked almost like respect. Yet he found that one hard to believe. Regardless though, it didn’t matter – what mattered was that Ron was still a liability. He was untethered and held at Shell Cottage only by the wards which Bill controlled.

Harry trusted Bill to keep Ron contained but he also didn’t want to rely solely on the wards or Bill because the truth was Harry didn’t really completely trust anything anymore – except Hermione, and even that came with a caveat when it dealt with his own life and making arrangements to preserve it. And he’d known that Hermione felt the same way even before they’d discussed the situation. The truth was Ron was still an incredibly dangerous risk to them and their mission and shy of having Nasir remove a substantial collection of memories from Ron’s head he would continue to be a hazard until the war finally ended because they could not trust him to stay.

So, as per his discussion with Hermione prior to dinner they were going to go address the redheaded elephant in the room one final time before they started training the Order and before Ron’s cowardly streak could get the better of him. And this was the _only_ reason why Harry was currently shifting around the table towards the redhead who was standing at the kitchen counter putting way leftovers from dinner. He could feel Hermione trailing along behind him and he was thankful for the commotion in the kitchen since it helped to keep people distracted from the upcoming encounter. Everyone, aside from Nasir, always seemed to tense instinctively whenever the trio got within ten feet of each other – which made sense given that the hostility between the trio was known throughout the entire Order now and everyone was cautious about them interacting outside of training.

Though Colin’s attendance to dinner had certainly been a helpful distraction and was still keeping people’s attention. The last of the muggle werewolves was sitting at the table looking both reluctant and incredibly unsure.

Apparently Shacklebolt, who had taken over his care from Hermione and Harry, had spoken at length with the man about his limited options due to his lycanthropy infection. To say that Colin was unhappy would be an understatement, and frankly Harry could not blame him for being upset or for distrusting them and wanting little to do with them. Yet something that Shacklebolt said must have broken through the man’s unresponsive and angry denial of the situation because he’d agreed to come to dinner and meet the Order. He was still very obviously upset, watching everyone nervously, curiously and the disdain in his eyes was obvious – but layered underneath that Harry thought he could see rational thought for the first time since he’d met the man.

It was a start.

He suspected that Colin would never be thankful or accepting like Liza and Ava – which again he didn’t fault the man. If he was being truthful, he found Ava and Liza’s reactions to be somewhat surprising all things considered. Whereas Colin’s was much more along the lines of what he’d been expecting to see. The man had every right to hate them and every right to be angry. Though Harry was still glad to see that Colin was making _some_ progress, even if it was slow and painful.

Introductions before dinner had been awkward but polite. People respectfully gave the quiet man space and even the twins didn’t joke around with him or pester him with questions like they had with Nasir. They left him alone and passed things to him by hand, only floating food to Liza when she requested.

Harry glanced back to the table once more as he walked with Hermione toward Ron. Everyone still seemed distracted.

Colin was silently watching Liza and Ava as they helped Mrs. Weasley gather the dishes. George and Fred had already gone outside to help Bill set-up for training, Nasir was lingering against the wall likely invisible to most who looked his way and Luna was playing with Charlie while the others members of the Order talked and shifted around the busy kitchen. Both Arthur and Shacklebolt had managed to get caught up on their workload so apart from any new emergencies coming up it looked like they would be able to have an uninterrupted weekend – which was good because Arthur would be transforming in just over 24 hours.

Even without knowing the full moon calendar they could feel the shift in the air and see the tension drawing across Arthur’s face. It was the same tight expression that had washed over Remus, Ava and Liza – like they could all feel something coming but couldn’t quite describe it. Remus seemed the most comfortable and calm about it, but the rest seemed tense. Harry found it hard to say that Colin looked any different because he’d only ever seen the man look tense and agitated – but regardless he knew the feeling was affecting them all.

Which brought up the other topic that he and Hermione knew they needed to address tonight – did anyone want to try the banding, and should they really try it at all? Both he and Hermione were a bit skeptical about experimenting on their friends when they had yet to finalize the control mechanisms of the bond.

Harry bit back a quiet sigh. There was just so much going on and even when things were going well it still felt like the Order couldn’t catch a break. He glanced back to Hermione and gave her a soft smile because he knew that she was thinking the same thing. He knew that she didn’t want to go speak to Ron but that she would because like everything else in this war – she did it because it _needed_ to be done. The only thing they could do now was take it one step at a time and systematically work through the impossibly long list of impossibly challenging tasks to complete.

And this was the first thing on the list for the night.

Ron noticed their approach the second they shifted past Luna and Charlie. He, like many others in the room, had probably assumed that they were going to go speak to the calm blonde witch instead of him. Harry could see the slight widening of the redhead’s eyes as his hands slowed while he finished fastening a lid on the last container of food and his eyes locked to the pair of them as they came to a stop only four feet away.

“Hey,” Ron said quietly as he twisted around fully to look at them. Harry could hear the nervous apprehension in his voice, and he could see the tension forming in his shoulders. Over the last week Ron had become oddly calmer around them so Harry figured that he must have been expecting this encounter to happen, it had clearly been on his mind since yesterday morning.

“Mind if we have a word before training starts?” Harry asked quietly, his eyes shifted back to the rest of the room. There were a few people watching them now, their gaze tense and lingering as they obviously worried that things might escalate to another round of face-punching. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes and turned back to Ron, he had no interest in punching Ron again and he wanted to remain as indifferent as possible, but if he was going to speak to the boy he’d rather do it without an audience. “Maybe upstairs?”

“Yeah – alright,” Ron nodded and put the final container away, wiping his hands on a small dish towel before leading the way out of the kitchen, past the curious glances and upstairs to his room.

Harry felt Hermione follow along behind him, ignoring the eyes that trailed them as they moved. Both of them were hoping to make this conversation quick and painless so they could move on to the next item on their list. He cast a silencing charm the second that the door to Ron’s room shut and Hermione leaned back against the surface and let Harry take the lead. She’d asked him to. She had even less interest in talking to Ron than he did.

Yet despite the tension and nervousness that riddled Ron’s body he was still looking at them calmly. He’d even given them a small awkward smile when the door shut. It was the same sort of thing that he’d been doing all week and Harry didn’t miss the frown that crossed Hermione’s face at the sight of it. She found his odd new behaviour confusing and frustrating and even Harry had to admit he wasn’t sure what was going on with the redhead or what the hell he meant by it.

He could feel an eerie tight tension creeping over the room as he stared at the boy before him. It had been a long time since they’d all been alone together in a small space. A long time since they’d faced each other after Malfoy Manor and experienced the explosion on the beach where Harry had nearly killed him. And it was quite possibly the very _first_ time that the trio was about to have a very _serious_ discussion in which it seemed that _all_ parties understood just how severe the stakes were.

“This is about the tethers – isn’t it?” Ron asked quietly, his eyes flicking between the duo.

“Yes,” Harry said, his voice low and even. He had no interest in escalating things and planned to remain as calm as humanly possible. “It’s about the tethers. Ron we–“

“You can put them back on,” Ron said quietly, his eyes had softened in a way that Harry had never seen, and his interruption caught him entirely off guard.

“What?” Harry couldn’t help it as the word escaped him and his brow knitted in confusion.

“You can put them back on if it makes you both feel safer,” Ron said a little more loudly so Harry wouldn’t doubt his words though his voice was still calm and even. “I – I understand why you put them on.”

“You do, do you?” Hermione said darkly, her eyes narrowed at Ron with distrust.

“I do,” Ron said firmly, and Harry noted that his fists had clenched at his sides as his jaw became tense. “I’m a liability – I understand that now.”

“Really,” the disdain dripping from Hermione’s voice was like acid and Harry saw Ron visibly wince at the sound of it. She’d not been planning to speak to him but clearly his words had touched a nerve and drawn out a reaction. “Because so far the evidence suggests that you do not.”

“I said I understand _now_ ,” Ron said tightly yet there was no anger in his eyes.

If anything, they almost looked saddened, hurt and – Harry’s thoughts paused as he looked at the boy – _is that regret_?

“I agree that I didn’t understand _before_ and you were right to add the tethers,” Ron continued. “I would have left. I _tried_ to leave and if not for Bill stopping me, I would have attempted to apparate away – and if not for Bill modifying the wards to keep me in here I would have died plain and simple. I _know_ that and I _understand_ why you did it. I know too much. I know about the Horcruxes and I know all about the both of you – I know your fears, wants, and secrets – and I _don’t_ know occlumency so I _know_ that if I get caught it would royally fuck everything up and I know that I was an idiot for not understanding that before.

“And I also know that you two don’t _need_ to talk to me or get my _permission_ to add them back on,” Ron sighed and ran a hand through his hair as his shoulders fell. “You two could do whatever you want to me and I wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it. We’re not in the same league anymore and I see that now. And I doubt that the Order or my parents would give a shit either because the truth is, they will back everything that you do because they trust you more than me – and they _should_.”

Harry stared at the redhead before him in disbelief. He felt Hermione go perfectly still at his side as Ron shook his head and looked at them sadly.

“I’ve never done anything to earn their trust or yours for that matter. In fact, I’ve done exactly the opposite,” Ron’s eyes hardened, and Harry could see a small sheen forming across them. As he spoke his voice started to grow louder with resolve. “I’ve done nothing but make shit decisions for the last I don’t even know how many years and you two have put up with me despite that. You could have sent me away when I showed up in March, but you didn’t because you _knew_ I wouldn’t go back to Shell Cottage and you _knew_ I’d get caught by a bunch of snatchers. You could have obliviated me to protect yourselves, you could have tied me up somewhere and left me there – you could have killed me and no one would have even found out, but you didn’t. Instead you gave me one simple thing to do – you asked me to stay put and to not go anywhere so that you could keep us all safe.

“And I couldn’t even do that,” Ron’s voice broke and his face crumpled. Anger started to seep into his voice as the room remained deadly silent around them. “And even after all that I still didn’t get it. I still didn’t understand. I fucking hated you for putting those tethers on me and it wasn’t until my dad was dying that I _finally_ got it!”

Ron looked at them both hard, his face tinted with red patches as he took a deep breath and seemed to force himself to calm down.

“It shouldn’t have gotten to that,” Ron whispered as he shook his head in disgust. He looked agonized, like everything pouring from his mouth had been building up since they’d arrived bloody and muddy in the cottage Monday morning and he’d been waiting all this time for his shot to let it out. Like he’d been wanting to tell them everything he’d realized but he wasn’t sure how to approach them because they were no longer friends – and suddenly his odd behaviours over the week started to make sense. “It shouldn’t have taken my dad getting mauled by a werewolf for me to understand. It shouldn’t have taken Lupin getting bit, and everyone risking their lives. It shouldn’t have taken you almost dying, Hermione.”

Hermione tensed as Ron’s eyes met hers with a burning intensity that made Harry’s chest constrict.

“I’m sorry,” Ron said painfully, his voice quiet as his eyes welled. “I’m sorry and there isn’t anything that I can ever do to take that back. You almost died. You were tortured because of me, you almost lost your arm and it’s entirely my fault. I should have listened to you – you didn’t ask me for much, you only asked me to wait and I couldn’t even do that. I’m sorry and you’ll never forgive me, and I don’t even think that you should. I didn’t understand how serious things had gotten, I didn’t understand how violent the war had become or what you two had been through – but that’s no excuse for anything that I did or didn’t do. The point is I fucked up – bad – and there’s no excuse.

“And now that’s something that I have to live with for the rest of my life,” Ron’s hands balled at his sides as his voice dropped to a rough whisper and he shook his head once more. “And that’s nothing compared to what _you_ went through and what you have to deal with for the rest of _your_ life. I know it means nothing to you – I know _I_ mean nothing to you and I’m not asking you for your forgiveness, but I do want you to know that I’m sorry. For everything. For all of it. And that I’m going to regret these last eight months for the rest of my life. I can’t do anything about what I did in the past and I know I’m probably still going to make mistakes – but I promise you that I’m trying to do better. I’m trying to become more, and I want to help win this war.

“I deserved a hell of a lot more than a punch in the face,” Ron said quietly, his eyes flicking back to Harry’s. “I’m more than willing to be bound by tethers until this is over if it will help. I’m not going to leave – but I understand that I have no ground to stand on to ask you for anything. I’ll do whatever you two or the Order ask of me.”

Harry stared at Ron for a long quiet moment. He’d not been expecting this conversation to turn into an emotional confession or for Ron to show acceptance of his own faults. Though from the look on Ron’s face it was evident that he’d been wanting and waiting to say it – and now he was left with an odd expression of both desperation and relief. He seemed to know and accept that Hermione was not going to give him anything and he accepted her silence without a single desperate plea or look.

She wasn’t going to speak after that monologue and she certainly wasn’t going to accept his apology or tell him that everything was fine regardless of how heartfelt his words might have sounded. Though thankfully Ron sincerely didn’t seem to be looking for her forgiveness – this seemed much more like a needed self-confession and a proclamation of his future plans than anything.

Which was a massive improvement from the last time that Ron ‘ _apologized’_ to them when he showed up at the tent and didn’t seem to understand why Hermione was so angry and wouldn’t ‘ _let it go_ ’.

Harry let out a low deep sigh, his face was still entirely impassive, but his eyes had hardened with seriousness as he looked at the redhead before him.

“When you left your post,” Harry said quietly, his voice echoing in the tight tension that still gripped the air around them. “You didn’t _just_ risk our lives. You endangered the safety of everyone in this cottage – and you risked the safety of several of your peers at Hogwarts. They would have had a list of everyone that has ever supported us – they would have known everything that we’ve done for the last seven years.”

“I know,” Ron nodded, his face tight and his hands still clenched.

“You understand that things are going to get worse before this is over,” Harry looked at him firmly though his voice remained even.

“Yes,” Ron said quietly.

“You understand despite all this training people are likely going to die and that there is little we can do to stop that,” Harry paused, and Ron nodded once more.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“You understand that we very well might lose this war,” Harry’s voice had dropped to a low whisper. “And that everything we’re doing up until our very last breath is calculated and done with purpose. That we are not doing nor have we ever done anything out of spite or because we just bloody well felt like it.”

“I know,” Ron said sadly, his voice soft as his eyes went glassy once more. “I know, Harry.”

Harry looked at him for another long silent minute, his eyes flicking to Hermione to take in her stone-faced expression as she stared at Ron with a complete lack of emotion. Yet despite her slightly icy exterior Harry knew that her emotions were running high and she was likely stirring like a storm on the inside as millions of thoughts and feelings flooded her body. He wasn’t sure how his next words would be received by her and frankly he couldn’t believe he was about to say them – this hadn’t been part of their plan.

“Then you understand that we need as much help as we can possibly get and that despite my concern regarding the integrity of your new-found resolutions I – _we_ – need your help,” Harry said quietly and he watched as Ron’s face twisted with visible alleviation. “Hermione is making new tags for the group that contain a strong trace charm so that we can locate each other if things go wrong. They will be ready on Monday – and when they are ready you _will_ wear one.”

“Okay,” Ron nodded, his eyes sincere as his gaze flicked between the two of them again.

“Until then,” Harry continued. “I’ll place _one_ tether on you, but after the tag is applied – I’ll remove it.”

Ron nodded again; his expression resolute as he stood there stiff like a solider before them.

“You will continue training.”

Harry glanced to Hermione, it was her quiet voice that had rang out at his side and she was watching Ron carefully, calculatingly as Ron’s eyes flicked back to hers a bit nervously. He’d not expected her to say anything and her sudden words seemed to make the tension in his shoulders reappear – perhaps he thought she might explode on him.

But Harry instantly knew that this was just a sign that she didn’t object to his alteration of their plan – she just wanted to add a few stipulations of her own.

“Of course,” Ron swallowed and nodded again.

“You will continue to participate in the evening meetings – your idea regarding the port keys for supply gathering was a good one so if you have any others throw them on the table, at this point we’re are grabbing at straws to try and find ways to make this war easier on everyone and to give us an advantage,” Hermione continued, her eyes still locked to Ron’s in a deadly seriously stare. Harry could see pink tinting the redhead’s ears at her words as he nodded once more.

“Okay,” Ron said somewhat nervous about the compliment given the seriousness of her tone. “I will.”

“And you will continue to interact with Ava and Liza the way that you have been without magic,” Hermione said quietly. “It’s hard for muggles to feel welcome in a magical home. They feel useless when the people around them can do everything with a flick of their wand so no matter how easy it is to slip back into doing everything with magic – _don’t_. What you’re doing is important and it’s helping – I’m going to speak with the others about it too. It makes them feel included and it makes them feel like they _matter_ – and given that they will be a part of this group for a very long time that is a big deal.”

“I will,” Ron’s expression had shifted from one of nervous apprehensive to one of seriousness. He seemed to finally pick up on what Harry had already concluded – that Hermione was agreeing with Harry’s compromise and giving him a list of orders to follow as part of the arrangement, and as part of him rejoining the Order. Ron had been the one to say that he would do whatever they asked so now was his chance to prove himself and his chance to show them that he could walk the talk.

“And,” Hermione said darkly, as she pushed off the wall and took a step toward him. “I want to be explicitly clear that _this_ is your final second chance Ronald. I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings or any confusion about where you stand or how this is going to work – once Harry removes your tether on Monday and we tag you, _that_ is it. You will stay here at this cottage unless you are specifically instructed to leave to assist with a task by myself or Harry – I don’t care what anyone else in the Order says – they don’t fully understand the devastation it would cause if you were to be captured because they don’t know the same information that we do. So, you are not to go anywhere else. I don’t trust you – but as Harry said, we need people and we need help. But when things go wrong, and they will, or when things get bad – and I can guarantee you that they will – if you abandon us again – if you leave and fuck off somewhere–”

Hermione paused and stared at Ron hard as she took another step towards him and dropping her voice to a low deadly tone.

“I will follow your trace the second you disappear and I will kill you on spot.”

“I know,” Ron breathed his jaw tight as he nodded once firmly.

Harry watched the exchange silently; it was so similar to the exchange that they’d had in the tent when Ron first returned and yet it was entirely different. Hermione was just as cold and ruthless as she’d been back then, but Ron had changed. His expression was serious, his eyes were sad, glossy and hurt but they were accepting of her words in a way that Harry had not seen the redhead display before as Hermione stared him down.

“Good,” Hermione said quietly before she finally took a step back and turned to look at Harry. “Tether his heart to the cottage – then we need to get back so we can start training.”

-x-x-

Hermione led the way down the stairs, her head was spinning from the interaction with Ron and she found herself looking around at her surroundings in disbelief. She couldn’t believe what he’d said. She couldn’t believe that the sincere glossy-eyed yet serious looking redhead upstairs was Ronald Weasley. She felt like she was meeting some _other_ Weasley brother that Bill and Fleur had been hiding at the cottage – because whoever that was had certainly not been Ron. At one point during his monologue of confessions she’d been tempted to slap him with a stunning spell and then check his diagnostics to make sure that he was actually _Ron_ – but she knew that it was him, it was just hard to accept and frankly she wasn’t sure if she ever would.

She doubted that she would ever trust the boy again. She doubted that they would ever rekindle their friendship – how could they when she felt nothing but empty hollow nothingness that borderlined on hatred when she looked at him? Yet despite this, a very very very small part of her was happy to see that he might have, against all odds, grown as a person.

Not because she cared – far from it – but because it was for the benefit of everyone else. The harder he trained, the more serious he became and the more understanding he grew of the situation they were in meant that the other Order members were safer and less at risk of dying or getting injured as a result of his old habitual stupidity. So as far as she was concerned, _new_ Ron could stick around for as long as he wanted provided that he continued to be useful and continued to not threaten the safety of the Order members and took this war seriously.

Hermione let out a silent breath as she took the last step and turned the corner back into the kitchen. She could feel eyes on her again but that seemed to be the norm every time she entered a room now after _something_ happened and so she ignored it. In a strange way she was starting to get used to it even though she didn’t like it. Besides, in today’s case she knew they were all just looking to see if the complete trio returned downstairs or if Ron had _mysteriously_ gone missing. Most of the Order members weren’t stupid – they knew what was going on and they knew that Hermione and Harry would not hesitate to permanently silence Ron if it meant the safety of the Order. Which was a curious thought… in the span of less than a year she and Harry had gone from being told that they were too young to officially be members of the Order to being so high up the chain of command they could do almost anything without most members questioning it.

It was an odd realization and one that she often buried in the back of her mind. That sort of power and reverence made her nervous – it was how people like Voldemort started. It was how people like Dumbledore had gathered his own followers over the years, a collection of souls willing to lay down and die for the man because they were unquestionably loyal. She much preferred the Nasir approach – powerful, yet silent and hiding in the shadows. Less chance of abusing those around you whether intentional or not.

She could practically hear the sigh of relief in the kitchen as all three of them came into view and she made her way toward the table.

“Hermione – Harry,” Arthur called to them as he got up from his seat at the table and walked around to meet them. “Before training I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Hermione gave him a small smile as she stopped behind her usual chair and took in the people still gathered in the room.

Bill and the twins were outside. Shacklebolt was talking with Mrs. Weasley and Fleur in the kitchen, Ava was sitting with Charlie on her lap next to Luna while Liza coloured a picture and Colin was still stiff and silent in his seat holding a cup of coffee. Remus was stirring his coffee and chatting quietly with Dean – who seemed to be the most relieved out of everyone that all three of them had come back down the stairs in one piece. Hermione felt her heart ache painfully for the boy, he’d not reacted well to their outside altercation and he was so traumatized from Malfoy Manor that he was displaying symptoms of PTSD and didn’t handle any hint of conflict well anymore. Though talking with Remus seemed to be helping.

She let out a small sigh and turned back to Arthur. “About the transformations?”

“Yes,” Arthur nodded, and Hermione noted that the other werewolves’ attention suddenly locked to them. Liza’s hand paused over the paper before her and her eyes watched them with an interest that rivalled Ava’s. Even Colin was looking at them now. “I want to try the banding.”

“You’re sure?” Hermione asked Arthur as Fleur brought Harry and Ron a coffee then placed a mug on the table for her. “There is a possibility that it might not work Arthur – I’ve run a few different cases but the bonds are still not –“

“They will work,” Nasir’s deep baritone echoed from the far wall and Hermione turned to look at him along with most of the rest of the room. She arched a brow at the man and Nasir simply stared at her, his lip twitching a fraction before he added. “I reviewed your calculations while you and Harry were speaking before dinner.”

She deadpanned as she looked at him, raising her brow further as if to say ‘ _really? Next time ask’_.

She almost thought she saw his lip twist more as he made a tiny imperceptible shrug, but the movement was so small it was impossible to tell for sure since he also continued to look at her indifferently. He was still so incredibly difficult to read. But to be fair, she had left her journal open to that page in the lab – Nasir had offered to finish and bottle the potions so that she could shower after practicing _fiendfyre_ then speak to Harry about Ron before dinner.

She wasn’t sure that she could call it _snooping_ when it was left out in plain sight – especially when she knew based on their interaction that morning that he clearly had no objection to reading over her shoulder. She’d also been debating asking him about the bonds anyway and she could hardly scold him when she’d have done the exact same thing. Still though, she’d need to make sure that she tucked away anything that she _did_ want to keep private and she should probably talk to him about what was off-limits. She’d always known that his moral compass was a bit skewed, so it was her own fault for leaving research out in the open.

“Yes, I know they _work_ Nasir – what I mean is that I’m not sure that the bond is safe from a control standpoint,” Hermione let out a sigh and picked up the coffee that Fleur had given her. She gave the blonde a tired smile and held the cup before her as she looked back to Arthur sincerely. “I haven’t finished securing the constraints around the control authority yet – meaning that whoever you’re bonded to could, _technically_ , get you to do anything. Some constraints are in place to make certain things more difficult but it’s not finished yet – I’ve not had enough time to finalize it yet.”

“But the bond itself is safe, correct?” Arthur asked her.

“Well, yes – the bond is safe,” Hermione nodded. “But you’re still relinquishing your control for the entire time you’re wearing the band.”

“But the band doesn’t harm the people wearing it who are bound by it?” Arthur pressed.

“No – no the bond doesn’t cause any harm. It’s perfectly safe from that perspective,” Hermione confirmed. “And it doesn’t use a stasis charm or anything like that, so it has no impact on your transformation or wellbeing. In essence the band simply provides a bond between two people and allows one to direct or control the other in a single direction flow. It’s just the control constraints part that I’ve not yet finalized.”

“Have you created them yet?” Arthur asked her curiously.

“Er – yes,” Hermione hesitated and glanced to Harry.

“We’ve created a few test sets,” Harry said as his eyes flicked hesitantly between Arthur and the three people watching them closely from the table. “Ideally we need to get our hands on better materials, we used transfigured galleons as a test. But as Hermione said – the safety on the control needs more work.”

“Well I’m not worried about that,” Arthur smiled at them. “I’d like to try it.”

“Arthur – you’ll be giving up control of your free will until myself or Harry remove the bands – you _should_ be worried about that, this is a dangerous slope,” Hermione looked at the man before her sincerely but he only smiled warmly.

“Well I’m not,” he said firmly. “Because I’ll be banded to you.”

“What?” Hermione nearly choked on the small sip of coffee she’d tried to take as she set the cup back down on the table and looked up at her surrogate father in disbelief. She’d anticipated that he’d want to be banded to Mrs. Weasley, not her. “Are you sure that–“

“Hermione,” Arthur said gently as he took a step forward and lowered his voice. “I trust you with my life and I will happily place it in your hands once more for a single evening. Yours or Harry’s – I trust you both to keep me safe and to not abuse your control. Besides, it’s just a test run. Worst case it doesn’t work at all and when I transform back you can remove the band and no harm done. Best case you will get some important data that can be used to improve the bands – but in both cases, it’s just temporary. As you said at the last meeting, we’ll put them on tomorrow just before nightfall, and we’ll remove them right afterwards. You and Harry shall remain in control of the bands and the process – we’ll keep this within the Order and we’ll keep this quiet until you’re sure it’s safe. But you will need to try it eventually and I can’t think of a better time than now.”

Hermione stared at the man for a long moment.

“You’re sure about this?” she said quietly.

“Positive,” he said firmly and gave her shoulder a firm squeeze.

“I would like to try it too,” Ava’s voice rang out and Hermione turned to look at her. “I don’t like the idea of banding – but I also don’t like the idea of being a danger or a threat to you, myself, Charlie or anyone else here simply because I don’t have any control over my actions. Remus told me today a bit more about how it feels when you’re in werewolf form and–“

Ava hesitated and she looked over to Remus with a pained expression. Remus nodded at her gently and so Ava pressed on.

“I don’t want that,” she said quietly. “He said you have no control – no rational thought or human instincts to know friend from enemy or right from wrong during the full moon. Yet you remember it all the next day when you’re human again. It’s rather cruel really – that you can lose yourself completely but be forced to live with the consequences afterwards when you had no say. I don’t want to wake up and regret something that I’ve done, even though it’s an accident I won’t be able to forgive myself. I don’t want to hurt anyone – I can already feel a pull here.”

Ava tapped the center of her chest with her stumped hand and Hermione saw her expression grow grim.

“It’s… wild, powerful and,” she hesitated again as she seemed to realize that the entire room was looking at her and her voice dropped lower. “It’s unnerving. I don’t like it; it makes me feel like I’m losing my control already and it’s not even the full moon yet. You’ve saved my life once already and kept me alive this long – you’ve all been open with me about everything going on and what’s going to happen. So, whether it’s stupid or not, I trust you enough to try the band for one night so long as I’m banded to one of you two.”

“Me too,” Liza said quietly, and Hermione could see the tight tension that laced the little girl’s face. It was clear that she felt the same thing that Ava had described and that it frightened her. Her initial fascination with being a werewolf, meeting Remus and becoming almost excited seemed to have worn off as the day progressed and the pull grew stronger. She was scared.

They were all scared.

Scared of losing control.

The previous transformation that Liza and Colin had experienced was forced, it likely occurred while heavily influenced under drugs and magic and they’d not experienced the natural pull of the moon like what Remus went through every month. This was brand new territory for them, and they were all looking for some sort of safety net so they could feel normal and secure. To them the banding was a lower risk and a less terrifying idea than going through the transformation without wolfsbane potion.

“Alright,” Hermione heard Harry say quietly from her side. She turned and gave him a wary glance, but he simply let out a deep sigh and gave her a tired if not slightly apprehensive look. “We’ll prepare three sets of bands.”

“Make it four.”

Hermione’s eyes darted to Colin – she didn’t know him well enough to recognize his voice and if not for the fact that he was looking directly at them she would have wondered who had spoken.

“I don’t want to be left out of this,” Colin said quietly his fingers gripping his mug tightly. “I don’t want to be banded either but – if everyone else is going to do it – I will do it too. They used to let some of the new transformations loose in a small pit in the back of the den to battle it out for money. I was put in there _once_ while un-banded – and I don’t ever want to feel like that again.”

“Okay,” Hermione breathed out and picked up her coffee once more. “Fine – we’ll trial the banding tomorrow. Everyone finish your coffee – tonight Harry and I are going to teach you something new.”

-x-x-

Hermione felt her stomach knot with nerves as she stared down at the purse hanging from her hand and tried not to think too much on the fact that she and Harry were both about to become responsible for and in control of two additional lives each. She’d woken early that morning to finish the bands with Harry, then she’d gotten Nasir to help her with checking over the final design while Harry meticulously brewed another batch of dittany and reviewed through her arithmancy calculations for their bond. She’d also asked Nasir if he’d looked at anything else in her journal – he’d confirmed that he hadn’t, and that he’d only looked at the page it was open to. Whether it was true or not was another story – but she was glad that they’d come to an agreement that anything left open was fair game but anything she closed was not to be opened.

Afterwards they’d completed their exercise routine with a particularly large group – _everyone_ showed up to workout and she suspected it was because people were getting antsy about the full moon. During the run she could practically see the tension in the air around the werewolves as they made their way around the perimeter, their bodies tense and tight as strain showed on their faces. They’d trained briefly with Nasir after lunch but cut the lesson short in order to eat an early dinner so they could pack everything up and prepare to go to the farm. Nasir had left the cottage early to ‘ _go run errands’_ and planned to meet them at the farm later that evening before the transformations started since Shacklebolt gave him access to the farm grounds. He’d agreed to come to the farm with them so that they had an extra set of hands to manage the situation if it got out of control.

That was nearly impossible given the extent of the wards that Shacklebolt had put up – but even then housing five werewolves _together_ was dangerous. If the bands proved ineffective Remus had noted that it was common for werewolves to brawl with each other and it could very quickly turn violent – especially for those experiencing their first change.

Hermione frowned as she thought over some of the other information that Remus had shared with them. It was going to be a long and painful night for the group. They would be sore, tired and exhausted the following day for upwards of a week. She just hoped that Arthur would be okay so he could function properly at work and not use any sick time – for surely it would draw unwanted attention.

Long fingers laced around the hand she was staring at and jerked her from her thoughts.

“Hey,” Harry said quietly, giving her a soft smile as she reflexively curled her fingers around his. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” Hermione nodded and smiled back at him. “Did you get everything from Mrs. Weasley?”

“Yup,” Harry raised the small bag he was carrying in his opposite hand. He’d darted ahead into the cottage to get supplies while Hermione waited outside. “A bunch of food and drinks – we’re all set for an all-nighter now.”

Hermione snorted and shook her head. “You’re making it sound like this is a party – or like we’re going to have _fun_ tonight.”

“Maybe we will,” Harry squeezed her hand. “Who knows, maybe these bands will make a huge difference – maybe someday werewolves will be able to transform at home and coexist with their families during the change instead of being sent outside or locked alone in a room while being terrified that they might hurt someone.”

“Maybe,” Hermione said quietly. “That is definitely a long-term goal.”

“Remember that this is just the start,” Harry said reassuringly. “This is just a test – if it doesn’t go perfectly that’s okay. The main goal tonight is just to get through it safely.”

“Yeah,” Hermione sighed and tightened her hold on him. She knew that it was her perfectionist personality that ran the risk of ruining the trial with the banding and less so the banding itself. Harry was right – tonight was just a test as Arthur had said. They would try it and make notes, then they would try it again. “Alright – let’s get to it.”

With that Hermione apparated them to the farm. Fleur and Bill had already brought Liza, Ava and Colin to the farm – they’d gone early so that they could rearrange the layout of the barn. Hermione hadn’t seen it yet, but Fleur had told her her ideas for the barn after their morning run. She wanted to remove the existing separate rooms, box in the supplies to a separate corner section of the barn to protect them and add a new access door outside. She then wanted to split the barn and pasture into two distinct areas since they planned to keep Remus separate from the rest of the group during the entirety of the night.

Since Remus had successfully taken his wolfsbane potion he would already be calm and docile. If the banding went poorly and if he was in the same pen as the others he would be in for a rough night. Remus had told her to just leave it alone and that he would simply use the smaller side of the barn that had no paddock but Fleur had refused. She seemed set that he should have access to the outdoors and told him the changes were minor since she was planning to add smaller walls for privacy so that each person had a place to transform anyways.

In the end Remus had stopped arguing with her and Fleur had smiled triumphantly – saying that she and Bill would take care of it.

Hermione knew that the older werewolf would already be there, working with Arthur and Shacklebolt to add additional wards on the new walls while completing a final check of the paddock. But what she hadn’t been expecting was for all the changes to already be done by the time that they got there. As she walked into the barn, she felt her eyes widen as she took it all in. It was completely renovated, and people were mostly just milling about adding final touches.

Except for Colin, who sat silently on a chair. Ava on the other hand appeared to be outside picking more flowers with Liza.

The air in the barn was both tense and calm – everyone was clearly stressed and anxious, and yet everyone was trying to remain positive and optimistic that the night would go well. Hermione grinned as Fleur spotted them and made her way towards them – she would be heading back to the cottage to help Mrs. Weasley with Charlie soon while no doubt anxiously awaiting updates. Hermione knew that the girl wanted to be there tonight – _everyone_ did – but Shacklebolt didn’t want to endanger people unnecessarily and so only himself, Bill and Harry, Hermione and Nasir would be staying throughout the night. Hermione had to agree with him, and frankly she thought that even the current headcount felt a bit excessive. But she understood why each person was there and she knew that they might need the additional help if things got out of control.

“Good Evening,” Fleur smiled at them as she came to a spot just a few feet before them. She was grinning proudly; her hair was messy – tossed in a ponytail that looked like it had worked itself loose during intense hard work and her sweater was tied haphazardly around her waist. Yet somehow, she still looked incredibly gorgeous. They’d clearly been busting their asses for the last several hours – it was likely that Fleur had shown up right after their workout to get all this done.

“Good evening,” Hermione smiled at Fleur as Harry greeted her. “This looks incredible Fleur – you and Bill really outdid yourselves.”

“That’s what I said,” Remus gave a tight smile as he lowered his wand from inspecting a ward and turned to make his way over to them from the far side of the room.

Hermione could see the tension in his shoulders and the exhausted look on his face. He was struggling, but at least he knew what to expect. It made her glad that Liza and Ava had each other and Remus to be there with them when they went through this for the first time. She just hoped that Colin might try to give the others a chance too.

“This is pretty much a five-star hotel as far as werewolf dens go,” Remus said with a mixture of amusement and disbelief as he looked around the barn and shook his head. “I’ve certainly never gone through a full moon somewhere like this before. I tried to tell Fleur that the chairs, the rugs and the small cots are unnecessary – they’ll probably be ruined.”

“Pft – zey will not,” Fleur scoffed and waved her hand at the man, but Hermione could see the warm smile in her eyes as she looked at him. “If zey do – who cares. I can easily repair zem. But you should ‘ave some faith Remus – with ze banding it is possible zat you will all be much more aware and will want a comfortable blanket to lay on. Zis floor is awfully cold without zem.”

Remus chuckled and shook his head. “Well – it’s appreciated Fleur, thank you.”

“Do not thank me Remus,” Fleur placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and smiled once more. “It is ze very least I can do. You deserve a safe place.”

Fleur sighed and looked back to Harry and Hermione.

“Well – since you are ‘ere now I should probably ‘ead back. I know zat Molly will be anxious for an update aside from single words through ze tags,” she grinned again as she gestured to her arm. “And I told Luna we could stay up and practice dueling as we wait for news. I think zat Fred and George plan to drop by as well – zis is rather exciting and everyone wants to know if ze bands work. ‘Arry – ‘Ermione – if at any point you need anything through ze night just let me know. We will be awake.”

“Thanks Fleur,” Harry said sincerely as he nodded to the woman. “We will keep you posted.”

They waved goodbye and watched as Fleur made her way out into the paddock to say goodbye to everyone else. Hermione couldn’t help the smile that formed on her lips as she watched Liza give the bundle of new flowers to Fleur to take home for her before she hugged the woman goodbye.

“So, are you ready for this?” Harry asked Remus, his brow arched in question as the greying man lingered by their side and watched the interaction as well.

“I’m never ready for it, Harry,” Remus said softly as he turned to look at the pair of them. “But this time – it doesn’t feel quite so horrible.”

-x-x-

“Right arm,” Liza said nervously when Hermione asked her what hand she wanted banded. “It doesn’t matter right? Like I’ll have a paw so… I won’t be able to use it like normal anyways, but I am right-handed. You know what, I don’t like watches on my right wrist, so I changed my mind – let’s go with the left just to be safe.”

Hermione grinned at the girl before her. She was sitting on one of the chairs that Fleur had brought to the barn while Hermione kneeled before her on the concrete. Harry was on the other side currently banding Colin – but the man seemed far less thoughtful about where to place the band compared to Liza.

“Left wrist sounds perfect,” Hermione said calmly, she’d instantly noticed that the girl was stressed the second she got within twenty feet of her and so she was determined to keep things as relaxed as possible. “Just hold it out and I’ll put it on.”

“It won’t hurt right?” Liza looked at her nervously. “I forgot to ask that the other day when I said I’d do it.”

“It won’t hurt no, I promise,” Hermione carefully opened the band on her knee and then pushed the girl’s sleeve up her arm out of the way.

“Because even though I don’t remember the other one much, I do remember it hurting,” Liza’s eyes were sharp, watching Hermione’s every movement both curiously and cautiously. Almost like a frightened animal debating whether or not to flee – yet she seemed pretty controlled despite her young age and was forcing herself to remain seated despite her fear and apprehension.

“It won’t hurt Liza I promise you,” Hermione said quietly as she looked up at the girl. She was still holding the band and had not moved to place it on the girl’s wrist yet. “That man who did that to you – he was a bad person and he didn’t care about your safety or comfort. This is not the same band I promise. This is an entirely different one. If you want, you can watch Harry band Colin first so that you can see how it works.”

Liza’s eyes flicked to the opposite side of the room and Hermione could tell the girl was watching what was happening. But then her eyes darted back to Hermione and she shook her head.

“No, it’s okay, I trust you,” Liza said quietly, and she nodded her head. “You can put it on.”

“Okay,” Hermione carefully reached for her arm again and began to place the band. Clipping it on was easy enough – for the most part – but she needed to link the band to Liza and then link her own with a final carved rune once it was set. It required a decent amount of precision, but not as much as a rune carving would and it thankfully involved no blood draw.

“Do you think I’ll remember what happens tonight after?” Liza asked her quietly as Hermione worked.

“I do – Remus said that he remembers every transformation,” Hermione said as she continued to focus on her work.

“But I don’t remember much from the last time.”

“Well,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “It’s likely that they had you under the influence of something while they did it. I suspect that they used either magic or drugs to keep you calm or slightly sedated since the transformation was unnatural – it might not have worn off before we rescued you.”

“That makes sense,” Liza nodded then went silent for a moment, a saddened look crossing over her face. “Do you – do you think I will ever see my family again?”

Hermione’s hands stalled and her eyes lifted to see the girl looking down at her. She’d not been expecting her to say that and she’d not planned on what to say if the topic of her parent’s death came up. As far as she knew Liza was still in a bit of denial and Hermione wasn’t sure that she was the one who should be having this conversation with the girl – she’d long since lost her emotional sensitivity and she didn’t want to mess this up by saying something too harsh or blunt.

“Liza,” Hermione said slowly, her voice cautious and wary. “You know that–“

“I don’t mean my parents,” Liza cut her off and dropped her eyes to her knees. Hermione still held the girl’s outstretched arm as her shoulders slumped a fraction and her voice grew lower. “I know they’re dead – I’m not stupid. I don’t remember much, but – but I do remember enough to know that they died. Fleur thinks I’m in denial but I’m _not_. I _know_ they’re gone – I just–“

She hesitated and Hermione saw her swallow hard.

“I’m not a kid like some of them think I am. I understand what death is – I lost my grandfather when I was eight, I watched the news growing up with my parents, so I know that bad things happen in the world. And I know that they’re gone. I just–“ she paused as she swallowed again, her voice was so quiet Hermione didn’t dare breathe. “It’s just _nicer_ to imagine that maybe they got away – to think that maybe they’re safe living in a small cottage somewhere, happily like we are, even when I know it’s not true. ”

Hermione felt her face falter as she looked at the girl before her.

 _She’s only twelve_ , Hermione thought as she stared at her.

So young. It was so easy to forget that she was only twelve because she spoke like an adult and acted like one half of the time – even now in this stressful moment she was acting well beyond her years. But in reality, she _was_ still just a kid despite what she thought. She’d just been placed in a situation that made her mature faster – she’d likely always been mature for her age, but this had no doubt compounded it.

 _Still_ , Hermione thought. _She shouldn’t have to go through this at all let alone by herself without her family_.

It struck Hermione that this was the same age she’d been when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. The same age she’d been when she’d seen a basilisk and been petrified. The same age she’d been when she was told that she’d be hunted down for being a muggleborn, killed simply because she existed and because some ancient long-dead Slytherin apparently hated her and wanted her and people like her dead. It was the same age she’d been when she truly realized that the world was a harsh and cruel place.

 _We were too young,_ she thought as she looked up at the girl before her. _The magical world is dangerous enough for muggleborn witches and wizards – let alone a muggle who cannot defend themselves._

Hermione let out a slow breath as she thought over Liza’s words.

“I think,” Hermione said slowly as she gave Liza’s arm a light squeeze. “That as long as you know the truth and accept it, it is okay to think that they are happy somewhere – because it is certainly a much nicer thought.”

Liza’s lip twitched and a small smile formed on her lips. “Thank you – for not thinking it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Hermione shook her head and she could physically feel her heart aching with pain as the rune grew heavier on her chest. “It’s not stupid at all. You want to see your grandmother and your aunt then?”

“Yes – well,” Liza hesitated and gave Hermione a sheepish look. “Just my grandmother. I don’t really like my aunt if I’m being honest.”

Hermione smiled. “I don’t like my one aunt either – it’s okay. We don’t pick the family we’re born into, but you _can_ pick the family with who you build bonds with. Did Shacklebolt say anything else to you about them?”

“Not really,” Liza said quietly. “He said because of my condition it would be impossible for me to go back to the non-magical world and I know that – but I–“

“You just want to see her one last time,” Hermione finished for the girl when she struggled to speak.

“Yeah,” Liza nodded and bit her lip. “I want to say goodbye and I want to know that she is okay. I want her to know that I’m okay – even if she forgets me after.”

Hermione hadn’t realized that the girl’s arm had shifted and that her thin fingers were now intertwined with her own – but she squeezed the girl’s hand back when she felt her grip tightening.

“I’ll talk to him,” Hermione said quietly, and she could see visible relief washing over the girl’s body. “I’m sure we can arrange that without issue. Let’s get through tonight though, okay? Strong and safe. Then we can set something up.”

“Okay,” Liza sniffed and nodded, her eyes refocusing into their usual calm as she looked at Hermione with resolve. “Let’s do this.”

-x-x-

“Alright,” Hermione said more loudly than she usually would have so that everyone in the barn could hear her. “The banding is finished – everything is set from our end and we have one hour until the moon is up.”

“Excellent,” Shacklebolt nodded and flicked his wand at the windows that lined the top of the barn. The shutters opened and the night sky became visible. “I want the focus tonight to be safety – nothing else is more important than keeping each other safe and ensuring that no one is injured. For that reason, we will spend the next hour outside the paddock waiting for the moon and once the transformations start everyone is to cast an individual shield charm as backup. The wards will not fail – but I am not taking any chances.

“In the unlikely occasion that something goes wrong we will be using stunners and tethers to regain control and to herd everyone back into the barn,” Shacklebolt motioned to the door. “At which point we will ward and lock the door and you will remain in the barn until the moon sets. All doors will be locked once we head outside and Remus – you will be locked on your side for the entirety of the night. Does everyone understand?”

A chorus of agreement echoed throughout the barn and then people began to shift. Remus made his way through the small door to his side of the barn while Shacklebolt warded him in. Colin remained on his chair within his privacy walls while Ava and Liza took a seat together on a small cot. They smiled nervously at Remus before the door shut then looked to Bill, Hermione and Harry with visible apprehension.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” Ava said quietly, her eyes nervous as she tried to stay strong and sure for both Liza and her own sake.

“We will be right here the entire time,” Harry said quietly as Bill made his way outside.

“We won’t let anything happen to either of you,” Hermione gave them a reassuring smile. “And once this is over, we can all relax.”

“Once this is over, I want another chocolate frog,” Liza said almost absently as she stared at her hands which were twisting together before her. The thin golden band on her wrist shone in the dim light every time she twisted her hands over. The closer it got to the change the more antsy she’d become.

“That we can definitely arrange,” Harry chuckled and smiled at the girl. “I’ll send a message to Fred and tell him to get some ready – maybe he can even bring you some fireworks too.”

Liza’s eyes shot up. “Are they magical fireworks?”

“They are,” Harry nodded.

“Yes,” Liza nodded firmly; her hands still knotted tightly. “I would like that very much.”

“Deal.”

Hermione pulled out some of the water and food that Mrs. Weasley had prepared and left it on the small table in the barn. They would be able to eat it now or in werewolf form later – either way, she was sure it would all be gone by morning.

“Ready?” Shacklebolt called as he made his way over from sealing in Remus.

“Ready,” Harry and Hermione both nodded.

“Alright – outside,” Shacklebolt herded them toward the barn door and out into the paddock. “I just felt the wards go so Nasir is right on time – it looks like everything has gone to plan so far.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Hermione said quietly as she cut across the grass and hopped the fence with Harry. She could feel the cold ripple of the wards wash over her body before she landed on the other side.

It was unsettling, like the tension growing up her spine as the light in the sky began to shift and the wind whispered through the long grass around them. She could see Nasir’s dark silhouette approaching from the drive as Bill conjured up some chairs for them to sit in.

It was going to be a long, tense evening – but she didn’t think that staying awake would be an issue, because her adrenaline was already starting to pump and she felt wide awake as the first slivers of moonlight began to creep through the air.

(to be continued...)

-x-x-

Once again apologies for the delay, if you’re in the discord group you know why :P ughh… 2020 is sooo 2020 right now. I’m declaring 2021 as a holiday and everyone gets the year off. I know I need it, if it’s not one thing it’s something else and I am spent! I’m not even surprised by anything anymore – but the good news is, I think things are under control now :D

(but I said that last time too so who knows, at this point I’m just along for the ride :P )

Also, to all my American friends – please stay safe, a lot of stuff is happening, know that you are loved and supported <3

For regular updates on the progress or because you simply want to join our awesome group, here is the discord link: https://discord.gg/g Qg WNx (remove spaces)

Thanks for reading!

<3 Tori


	58. Chapter Fifty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First full moon, five werewolves, four bands - we see how things go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. As always, thanks for reading!  
> 2\. Feedback/comments are always appreciated :) I read them all and use them to improve, I only ask that you please be constructive with your criticisms and kind with your words – after all, there are an infinite number of ways to tell a tale and this is just *one* story that I am writing for fun. 
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Updates on Sunday +/- a few days. Things are crazy right now but I’m still trying for weekly.

Harry looked down at the two thin gold bands wrapped securely around his right wrist, only one of the three runes were visible since Hermione had marked the other two beforehand on the inside of the band. _Gibo_ , the third rune, which finalized the bond was marked on the outer surface once the linked bands had been secured in place on both parties. It looked like a small black x against the glinting golden surface as Harry looked down at them nervously, his grip on the paddock fence tight as he waited silently with the others while the first few rays of moonlight began to peek through the clouds.

The chairs that Bill had brought for them were set up behind them but it seemed that at this point everyone was too nervous and antsy to use them. Harry doubted that they would sit down at all for the next few hours – or at least not until the change had taken place and they’d determined that the bands were functional and safe.

He’d already caught Shacklebolt, who currently stood on his right, glancing to the bands a few times now. The older man’s eyes seemed to shift to them naturally, like he couldn’t help himself from looking at them – like he thought he might get to _see_ them working when the time came. Harry couldn’t blame him; everyone was nervous and it made him wonder just how much the man and the others trusted him and Hermione to do this right – to create a solution that could potentially help hundreds of people in the future. It was a daunting thought to have so many people looking to them for a solution and it made his insides twist. As if being responsible for ending the war with the destruction of Horcruxes wasn’t enough he and Hermione had once again picked up yet _another_ task in which they felt responsible for.

But he’d have it no other way. Maybe it was his hero complex that made him incapable of doing nothing or staying away from problems, but he would help and do everything that he could whenever he could, and he knew that Hermione felt the same.

They would _always_ help.

They would _always_ fight to make things right regardless of how much else they had on their plate.

They were both hopeful that tonight would be a success. Nasir had said that the bands would work which was reassuring and they all agreed that they _would_ – the question was just _how much_ would they work? And would it be worth it in the end to pursue finalizing the bands or would this end up being a lost cause and a massive waste of time? After all wolfsbane potion worked and despite it being difficult to brew it was readily available.

Harry held back a sigh as his eyes traced over the web of thin silver-white scars that now covered his right hand and ran under the dark sleeve of his sweater. They went all the way up his forearm to his elbow like the branches of a tree – a new addition he’d acquired after training with Nasir the day before and learning a new spell which he’d initially failed to control. It was nothing like _fiendfyre_ and it had been much more difficult to cast. As a result, Harry had pushed a bit too hard to make it happen and while in the end he’d been successful at casting it, the massive size of the spell had caught him entirely off guard. The result had been this injury – he could still feel the tingling in the tips of his fingers and the dull ache in his muscles from when his body had gone impossibly tense from the overload of energy. If not for Nasir being there by his side, he’d probably have died. The experience had once again given him an appreciation and deep respect for dark magic – and he completely understood why so many wizards stayed entirely away from it.

Harry’s eyes flicked to Shacklebolt once more and he noticed that the man’s gaze seemed to be locked to his hand and less so to the golden bands – perhaps he’d been incorrect and had overthought the meaning behind Shacklebolt’s glances. It was possible that the man was just eyeing the scar pattern – maybe he even knew what it was from?

Either way Harry was glad that the wizard chose to remain silent on the issue if he did. Harry was sure that he would get looks in the future unless he learned a masking charm like Hermione had because as with all dark magic, the Lichtenberg figures would never go away. But he had no interest in getting into another discussion over his use of dark magic with fellow Order members – though he heavily suspected that Shacklebolt toed the line on what was ‘acceptable magic’ much more often than Arthur did and wouldn’t question his or Hermione’s intentions. In fact, based on their limited conversations and Shacklebolt’s history with Nasir, Harry fully suspected that Shacklebolt had a few dark spells up his sleeves as well.

Which oddly, made him feel _better_ – it made his confidence in the Order grow to know that someone else on their team was willing to do whatever it took.

Either way he didn’t mind the scars and it was incredibly unlikely that he’d get any more of them now that he understood how to cast the black lightning and what was required to keep it away from his own body. Turned out that his shield charm was rather effective at keeping the lightning at bay which gave him a safety buffer in case he messed up – unlike _fiendfyre_ , who’s heat could suffocate a person regardless of them having a shield in place. They’d not tested the effectiveness of the shield against direct flames yet, but Harry had a suspicion that the shield would not hold for long.

 _Besides_ , Harry thought as his mind wandered back to the scarring. The markings were barely noticeable during the day. It seemed that they became more apparent in the evening because the burned and damaged skin reflected light almost with a glow and it contrasted much more considerably once it was dark.

Harry let out a breath as the wind rustled past the group and made the taller grass in the paddock shift. The two fluttering heartbeats he could feel in his mind from Colin and Ava made him anxious and it made him wonder how the hell Hermione had managed to deal with all the vital signals she felt through the tags. He ignored Shacklebolt’s curious gaze and dropped his eyes down to his own hand once more, tracing the thickest line that ran up his index finger, down the middle of his hand and disappeared beneath his sweater. Hermione had said the markings looked ‘ _beautiful in a way’_ once she’d seen them and she’d been quite fascinated by the pattern that had been created.

It was hard not to smile when he thought of her and the way that she seemed so fascinated by everything. The way that she’d pushed his sleeve up to examine the marks while asking questions about the new spell and how it worked had been nothing short of adorable and endearing.

Not once did she berate him for getting injured during practice. Not once did she doubt him or say that it was too dangerous or that he wouldn’t be capable of managing the magic. Not once did she tell him to stop – instead she encouraged him, praised him for working so hard and offered a few suggestions at how to stay safer after discussing the spell with him and Nasir. Nor did she flinch or look at the scars with distaste. Just like how Harry believed in her, had faith in her abilities, accepted everything about her and all her markings – she accepted him entirely too. She _believed_ in him wholly and that, above everything else, was his main source of conviction.

She loved him and she trusted him. She knew that he could do this just like how he knew she could too and it made the weight that he carried on his soul feel a bit lighter when he thought about it.

Harry couldn’t help but smile faintly. He could feel the warmth of her against his left side, the way she was naturally leaning into him slightly as the quiet tension of the night continued to grow tighter. He heard her murmur something to Nasir on her left low enough so the others would not hear – she was asking him more questions about the wand core procedure they’d planned for the following morning. Nasir murmured back a low response loud enough for only her and Harry to hear but his voice cut short as the first scream from the barn broke through the night.

“It would seem it has started,” Nasir said slightly louder so that everyone could hear his rich baritone voice.

Five heads had turned sharply to look at the barn and Harry could literally see Shacklebolt and Bill’s grips on the wooden paddock fence tighten as a shriek that was unmistakably Liza’s broke through the air. He could feel his heart rate increasing as he looked to Hermione with a tight expression and she nodded, both of them getting ready for what was about to come. They’d seen Remus transform once, they knew it was painful and they knew that it wouldn’t take long. In less than a minute there would be five werewolves within the barn

“Alright let’s do this,” Hermione breathed, and she leaned forward on the fence looking at the barn determinedly. “We’ll stick to the original agreed to plan – start with calm commands then ask them to come out into the yard once their heart rate levels around 200 beats per minute.”

“Right,” Harry nodded, keeping his voice calm despite the beginnings of snarling he could hear from inside the barn. He started counting the beats. “If that works then we’ll try some other commands.”

Harry focused his mind on the bond that he could feel through the bands. He could already hear the heartbeats racing their way well above normal human rates. He could feel the confused, conflicted, angry and turbulently violent emotions that radiated out from the other side of the bond. Neither he nor Hermione were entirely sure how to _use_ the bands but based on the calculations and what Hermione had gathered from reverse-engineering the bands Arlo created it seemed like it was all about clear, concise thoughts being directed at the connection.

It was an entirely mental exercise – and the bonded pairs that they’d heard barking orders verbally were doing it simply because saying it out loud made it easier to maintain focus and give specific direction. But it hadn’t been necessary. Everything could be communicated silently.

 _Calm_ , Harry thought firmly as the heartrates in his head levelled out to above 200 beats per minute – yet they remained erratic and panicked. The transformation was complete – so he forced his mind to carefully focus on the connection while he forced the thoughts through like commands to the other side. _Calm. Peace. Do not attack._

Almost instantly he could feel the two erratic heart rates on the other side of the bond calming down to a steady even rate as he repeated the thoughts concisely in his head and pushed them over the bond. Already he felt a tension headache forming at the front of his mind and he wondered just how much headache relief potion the snatchers must have been drinking – or perhaps you grew used to it over time. Then again, Arlo’s bands had been designed differently. They were based solely on control; they oppressed and subdued the werewolves entirely and made them mindless shells incapable of having any thought at all, so it was likely that controlling them took less effort with his bands.

The sound of snarling went silent and an eerie calm filled the air. Once he felt the confused anger almost entirely dissipate and the barn had remained silent for several long seconds, he decided to give the first order outwardly so that everyone could follow what was going on.

“Leave the barn, walk to the center of the paddock and sit,” Harry said calmly as he pushed the command through the bond. It wasn’t a suggestion, he sent it as an order, and he could feel the others watching him and Hermione tensely as she gave the exact same direction.

No one breathed as they watched the large open door of the barn and waited for something to happen. The seconds ticked by painfully slow and Harry felt his chest constrict in nervous apprehension until finally, four crouched figures appeared in the doorway. His hands unconsciously tightened on the wooden fence as he watched almost disbelievingly as four werewolves made their way out into the center of the paddock in a calm single line. They slowed to a halt in the middle of the field and then – against all doubts he’d had – they sat.

Harry heard both Shacklebolt and Bill let out an audible sigh of relief. Bill dropping his head into his hands fully, muttering ‘ _oh thank Merlin’_ under his breath as he shook his head in relief. Even Harry couldn’t help but let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as Hermione turned and gave him a hopeful and nervous smile.

The werewolves sat there awkwardly in the middle of the field, sniffing at the grass before them but not moving an inch as they looked toward the fence where everyone was standing. Harry could feel a brief wave of violent anger flaring on the other side of the bonds when they initially saw the collection of humans, but when he repeated the order of calm it settled quickly once more. It seemed that _seeing_ humans invoked a fresh wave of instincts to attack – but that it could indeed be countered by a command that ordered peace.

“Well I think it’s obvious which one is Liza,” Shacklebolt said with a grin as he pointed out into the paddock at the smallest werewolf.

She was a bit smaller than a normal wolf, her coat a mixed colouration of fur. She looked like an adorable patchwork of different colours; her ears dark brown while her face was a lighter tan. The rest of her fur was mostly grey and black but spotted with sections of brown, copper and white – and Harry couldn’t help but grin with the rest as they looked her over. She was actually adorable (since she wasn’t trying to bite anyone’s face off). He realized that until tonight he’d never truly _looked_ at a werewolf before. He’d never had the chance – he was usually running away, trying to escape or beheading them to save his own neck.

But when they weren’t snarling and blindly attacking with rage, they actually looked rather brilliant. Much larger than normal wolves with slightly shorter snouts, tufted tails and apparently much more varied in colour. Their eyes looked almost human as well now that he could see them properly and they weren’t enraged and rolling with the command or instinct to kill.

“I think so,” Harry smiled. “I didn’t know their coats could look like that – we’ll have to ask Remus if that’s because she’s still a kid or if it will stay that way.”

“I’ll make a note of it. Liza – take three steps forward,” Hermione said calmly, and she watched as Liza stood from her seated position and moved toward the fence by exactly three steps. It was obvious that she was watching them curiously, her bright blue eyes carefully taking in their movements. It was also clear that she was itching to do more than what she was currently being instructed to do. “Sit.”

Liza made an annoyed yowl but sat down, her ears perked as she continued to watch them anxiously.

“Well it’s working,” Harry said in disbelief as he turned to Hermione. “Did you feel a second wave of desire to attack once they came out.”

“Yeah,” Hermione nodded, biting her bottom lip as her brow furrowed in thought. “It seems like seeing humans invokes a stronger wave of basic instincts – which makes sense. Werewolves are almost entirely peaceful with _every_ other species but humans. It’s well documented that they actually _seek_ humans out to attack them. We might need to add another rune just to help compensate for that – I’d anticipated it and I knew that they would be violent, I just didn’t realize the desire to attack would be _this_ strong. I didn’t properly account for it – we’ll need to address it on the next round because repeating _peace_ and _calm_ every few minutes through the bond is a bit inconvenient and poses a risk.”

“Might I suggest adding _wunjo_ tied to _ansuz_ for that,” Nasir said quietly. His dark eyes were fixated on the werewolves and they were glinting with interest as he watched them sit motionless in the paddock. “That combination should give you a good balance of harmony and inner peace and reduce the need to instruct it.”

“Yeah that’s a good idea,” Hermione nodded as she pulled her notebook and pen from her purse. While she began documenting their observations and questions and noting down Nasir’s suggestions Harry turned to look at Bill as the redhead spoke.

“I assume the red looking one is my father?” Bill asked, a small smile playing on his lips as he looked at the largest werewolf of the bunch.

If they were going based purely on sizes Harry assumed that he was correct – though he found it curious which traits seemed to directly translate through and which ones didn’t. Liza had kept her blue eyes, but her mixed coat was entirely different from her normal black hair. If the large red-ish looking werewolf was indeed Arthur, his eyes had remained blue and his coat had stuck fairly true to his natural hair colour. That would make the second-largest grey werewolf Colin – which made sense given the size and hair colour, but his eyes had shifted to yellow instead of their normal brown. And most curious was the medium-sized jet-black sleek looking one which was obviously Ava because it was a tripod. Her normal brown eyes had shifted into a colour that he could only describe as silver and her coat didn’t match her typical dark brown.

“I think so,” Harry said slowly, his eyes scanning over the two largest werewolves once more. “Colin, move to the left six paces.”

The grey werewolf slowly stood and shifted to the left, standing there rather unenthusiastically and staring at the fence line with an expression that looked hauntingly similar to one that Colin would actually make.

“Yeah the red one is definitely Arthur,” Harry smiled at Bill. He wondered if they had any human thoughts going through their minds with the bond in place, perhaps that was why their expressions seemed so… _thoughtful_. It was yet another thing that they needed to ask once the night was over.

“Their coat colouring is fascinating,” Hermione muttered. Harry could see her taking down a description of each creature before them and making a guess at their size and weight. “I wonder what it’s based on – or if it pulls from recessive genes.”

“I’m not sure,” Shacklebolt said as he leaned on the fence and looked at the group. “Unfortunately, the werewolf community has not been studied – at least not properly and certainly not from any other perspective than calling them beasts or with the angle of trying to exploit them in some way. As a result, the communities are rather secretive or people who are infected try to remain anonymous and hide within society. Most of them stay single and avoid having friends in order to make hiding easier.”

“When this is over, we should fix that,” Hermione said quietly, her eyes still watching the rather peaceful looking creatures before them.

“I agree,” Shacklebolt said firmly, his jaw clenching tight as he nodded. “There are a lot of things that haven’t been done right in the past – and it needs to change. We’ll never truly move past this war unless we start addressing the issues that have been plaguing our world for generations. It’s the reason why nothing changed after the first war.”

Shacklebolt took a low deep breath and Harry saw a look of determined resolve pass over his eyes.

“We failed your generation,” the tall man said quietly before he turned to look at both Harry and Hermione. “There’s no other way to say it and no point in making excuses. When this is over – I will help you fix this. I will help you make real change happen.”

-x-x-

Hermione glanced over the notes that she’d jotted down over the course of the last several hours. She’d documented each werewolf’s form, their defining features and their estimated height and weight. She’d documented the commands they’d tested and the extent at which they were followed including everything from sit, lay down, roll over to getting the group to run from one side of the paddock to the other and stop instantly on command. They’d monitored how long the _calm_ command lasted and it turned out that after the second wave of anger at the sight of humans had faded it took approximately one full hour for them to become agitated and aggressive once more.

This told her that they needed to solidify the bond’s foundation in peace and calm more thoroughly. She’d anticipated them being violent and designed the bonds for it – she’d just not anticipated them being _this_ violent and aggressive. Frankly, even though she disagreed with the intent of the approach – she now understood why Arlo had used such controlling runes in his bond. He’d completely shut down their ability to be independent creatures because he’d viewed the risk as too great and he was using them as tools. She, on the other hand, was trying to find a suitable balance of command vs natural instinct. All documentation showed that werewolves were capable of being peaceful when surrounded by other creatures – the problem was their reaction to _humans_ and that was what she was trying to address. She didn’t want to turn them into mindless lumps of flesh that could be ordered around or abused if tied to the wrong person.

At one point during the night Hermione and Harry both instructed the werewolves to relax, which had resulted in Colin moving off to the side and napping in a corner while Arthur wandered the paddock in a slow circle sniffing at the different plants and trees. Liza ate the grass, pawed at the ground and dug a small hole while Ava laid down in a cozy-looking patch of moss in the moonlight. Thus, making it abundantly clear that Liza had enormous amounts of energy compared to the rest of the group if that was what she considered _relaxing_. A short while later they’d almost run into trouble when they’d instructed the group to play in order to let them burn off some energy.

Liza had run after Colin at full speed, darting around the older werewolf and trying to grab his tail. Colin, who had not seemed interested in playing had nipped at her as she managed to get a grip on his tail – which had resulted in Ava and Arthur running over on their own accord when Liza yelped in pain. In the end Hermione and Harry quickly gained control of the situation by telling them all to _freeze_ , then they slowly moved them all away from each other and calmed them down once more. After that Liza seemed to keep her distance from Colin and tended to follow Ava around – though she didn’t dare try to grab anyone else’s tail but her own for the rest of the night.

In the end they concluded that the best commands were the straightforward ones that couldn’t be left up to interpretation: _be_ _calm_ , _freeze_ , _sit_ , _do not attack anything_, and _relax_ worked best to keep the group safe and minding their own business – except for Liza who seemed determined to be near another werewolf or approach the fence line regardless of how hard they tried to keep her away. She would listen to their spacing instructions for a maximum of fifteen minutes then they’d catch her slowly inching her way closer. One time she did it while pretending to be laying down, but Hermione had caught her scooching forward to the fence when her heart rate had picked up in excitement. Thankfully, both Ava and Arthur seemed to tolerate her rather well so they didn’t have any issues when Liza approached them or trailed behind the two other werewolves.

Halfway through the night Bill floated more food into the pen and they all got to eat and drink. Nasir suggested a third rune which could be added that might help give them the ability to hear their own human consciousness while transformed. Shacklebolt kept the Order members at Shell Cottage up to date through the tags, and everyone seemed rather thrilled with the results and eager to see the experiment continue and improve in the future. They checked on Remus a few times during the night, but the older greying werewolf had been asleep each time on one of the fluffy blankets that Fleur had left so they didn’t disturb him.

An hour before the werewolves reverted back to their human form Shacklebolt allowed Mrs. Weasley to apparate to the barn and stand at the fence line with them to see how it impacted the werewolves when a _new_ human was added within sight – it certainly affected them, but again the bonds held firm and Hermione and Harry were able to control them with a quick order to sit and an instruction to remain calm.

Mrs. Weasley had nearly cried when Hermione let Arthur slowly come within ten feet of the wards and sit down. It had been fascinating to watch. The large red werewolf had sat there staring directly at Mrs. Weasley and _only_ at Mrs. Weasley – and the woman was convinced that her husband’s mind was present and that he knew that it was her.

They’d know soon enough when they spoke to them in the next hour after they shifted back into human form, but it certainly raised the question of whether or not control through the bands would even be necessary in the future. It was a well-known fact that lycanthropes lost their ability to think or rationalize like a human being during a full moon – and yet they recalled _everything_ that had happened and everything that they did once returned to their human state.

It suggested that their human consciousness was still functional to some degree within the recesses of their mind when in werewolf form. And it suggested that both forms had access to the _full_ brain since the memories were shared so if they could pull the human consciousness forward through a band while simultaneously repressing the aggressive werewolf instincts arguably one could maintain their human mind during a change and they wouldn’t need a guardian at all. One could be individually banded and be safe to be around others.

But they were still a long way off from that. Hermione made note of it to continue her research in that direction, but she knew it would take time and a lot more trials before they ever removed the control factor of the bond since it was a safety feature.

Finally, about twenty minutes before the end of the night, after Liza had tried to approach the fence for the umpteenth time and yowled in annoyance when they sent her away – they agreed to let her approach fully. As far as Hermione could tell there was no anger or violence through the bond when she tried to come near and the only thing that she felt was a sense of curiosity. So, everyone at the fence line calmly drew their wands just in case and Hermione instructed Liza to _not attack anything_ and to _relax freely_. The results were instantaneous, she trotted over to the fence, pausing every few feet as if she was expecting to be turned away and then finally once she realized no one was stopping her she ran towards it at full speed – but she didn’t attack.

She simply came to a stop right at the edge, her bright eyes taking them all in one at a time as her nose twitched excitedly. Even Hermione had to admit she understood what Mrs. Weasley had meant when she spoke about Arthur – because when Liza looked directly at her, Hermione couldn’t help but feel like there was some sort of recognition behind her eyes.

She’d seen countless werewolves before, she fought them, killed them, been mauled and nearly killed by them and in each case when you looked in their eyes, they all looked the same – empty. Void of any thought or emotion aside from rage, anger and an insatiable urge to kill humans. Aside from the shape and display of emotion there was absolutely nothing human or reasonable in their gaze and as much as it pained Hermione to admit it – people had every right to fear them. When not under the control of wolfsbane potion werewolves were dangerous, incredibly so, and they were a threat to most average wizards.

But how the wizarding world had chosen to deal with them and treat them was unacceptable – it was like no one had ever really bothered to try and understand lycanthropy, how the infection worked or _why_ it worked the way that it did. No one had ever tried to help them or cure them – save for the inventor of the wolfsbane potion. Instead werewolves were written off as beasts and ostracized from civilization.

 _But this_ , Hermione thought as she looked into Liza’s humanlike eyes and inched closer to the fence. Liza’s mouth was hanging open, and she was panting from running around, her ears were still alert as she ducked her head in a fashion similar to something that Hermione had seen dogs do before their owners. _This is a real start. This could change everything_.

“Ten minutes until sunrise,” Bill said as he eyed the first glimpses of light that shone over the horizon. The moon was barely visible now and Hermione could see the nervous anxiety beginning to affect the werewolves once more. “I have to say – this went a hell of a lot better than I’d expected.”

“No kidding,” Shacklebolt grinned and patted Harry firmly on the shoulder as he gave Hermione a warm look. “This is a game-changer.”

“It’s a start,” Hermione smiled at him and let out a sigh. “Okay, Liza – back to the barn.”

The patchwork werewolf gave her typical yowl of irritation but turned and trotted back to the barn with the others.

“Once the transformation is done, we’ll all have breakfast,” Mrs. Weasley said warmly as she leaned on the fence and watched her husband disappear from sight. “Fleur and Luna have been cooking up a storm. I was helping them with it before I came here.”

“Did no one at the cottage sleep?” Hermione asked, raising a brow as she fought back a yawn. It was the first hint of exhaustion that had come over her body since the night began. She’d been too interested in their findings and too hopped up on adrenaline to feel the weariness until now. But as the red glow of morning lit up the paddock, she realized just how tired she was and leaned heavy against the railing between Harry and Nasir.

“No,” Mrs. Weasley smiled broadly. “Just Charlie – everyone else was far too nervous. Too excited – Shacklebolt’s updates every few minutes had the cottage buzzing all night. Fred and George showed up just after 3 am with some snacks and games and they’ve made a night of it. At one point the exploding snap got so loud I had to cast another silencing charm on Charlie’s room. Thank goodness tomorrow is Sunday or we’d be a right mess.”

Hermione snorted and couldn’t help but smile as she leaned comfortably against Harry’s shoulder while letting her hands dangle into the paddock as her elbows braced on the fence. She was glad that Mrs. Weasley had let everyone at the cottage deal with this the way that they needed too and that she hadn’t tried to force everyone to go to bed. “They probably needed it – after everything that’s happened.”

“I think so too,” Mrs. Weasley gave her a warm smile over Harry’s head and Hermione could tell the woman was getting emotional. “Thank you – for agreeing to try these. I know they had a risk and you were both hesitant about it. I know you think the bands are still far from perfect – but these really have made a difference. I’ve seen Remus during his transformations while on wolfsbane potion a few times because I dropped off supplies to Tonks – and this is nothing that like. He was always sleepy and drowsy while on that stuff. Wolfsbane potion might keep them nonviolent, but it’s like a drug that makes them spacey and exhausted. I’ve never seen this – clear eyes and completely aware of their surroundings. This is something to be proud of.”

Hermione nodded awkwardly and let her eyes trail back to the barn.

“Yeah, I checked on Remus part way through the night and it’s as you said,” Hermione said quietly. “He’s harmless but not really aware of what’s going on around him. He slept most of the night. I’d never seen wolfsbane potion in effect until tonight, but I’d read about it. It works but – it seems to take a toll afterwards and leaves the user exhausted for a few days.”

“I’m curious to see how they feel after this,” Harry said quietly.

The group fell silent when the sound of whimpers and howls started. Hermione could only grit her teeth as the heart rates in her head soared once more before rapidly dropping down to human levels. She could tell that they were in pain even without the sounds just by looking at their vitals. The transformations in and of themselves were violent and brutal and she made a mental note to look into that in the future as well even though she doubted there was much that could be done.

They all remained silent and motionless until Hermione felt the heartbeats in her head level out to a normal human rate. She waited an additional minute just to be sure before she nodded to Harry and pulled herself over the fence.

“The transformations are complete,” Hermione said to the group though she kept her wand out and her shield in place regardless. “Harry and I will go make sure everything is okay first since our shields are still active. Once it is secure you can come back into the paddock.”

The group nodded – it was the plan that they had discussed and agreed to previously. But she could tell that they were anxious to know how everyone was so she and Harry made their way quickly across the paddock toward the barn.

“They’re stressed,” Harry said quietly as they approached the large door.

“I know,” Hermione nodded sadly, she could feel the vitals flaring with pain in her head. “Let’s just hope the injuries are minimal.”

“Arthur?” Hermione said hesitantly as they reached the large open door. “Ava? Liza? Colin?”

“Present!” Liza's raspy voice rang out like she was answering an attendance call in class. Hermione grinned as she heard the hollow and pained chuckle of the others echoing through the barn and she felt Harry let out a sigh of relief next to her before they both shared a warm smile.

“Ha aha – ugh, Liza don’t,” Ava groaned as she clearly tried not to laugh. “I think some of my ribs are broken – please don’t make me laugh.”

“Sorry,” Liza said somewhat sheepishly, her voice coming from her individual walled in space.

Hermione turned back to the paddock, giving a quick thumbs up to the others at the fence line before she and Harry got back to work. She heard the pop of Shacklebolt apparating away per plan as he returned to Shell Cottage to update the remaining Order members in person. She could hear Mrs. Weasley clambering over the paddock fence to come check on Arthur while both Bill and Nasir went to inspect and repair the damage in the paddock.

“Is it okay if I come in?” Hermione called out to Ava as she moved through the barn toward the individual corners. There were claw marks on some of the walls and a hole was torn clean through Colin's privacy wall but all in all the damage seemed rather minor.

“Yeah, it's okay,” Ava answered as Hermione approached.

She left Harry to tend to the males and was surprised when Liza popped into view just outside of her individual walled in area. The girl looked tired, dark circles lined under her eyes and she looked a bit shaky on her feet – but overall, she seemed perfectly fine and she’d even had the energy to re-dress herself.

“I'm okay,” Liza said with a smile as if reading the brief look of concern that brushed across Hermione’s face.

“Okay,” Hermione smiled at the girl, but she didn’t miss the way she was favouring her right leg where Colin had bit her. “I’ll fix your leg up in just a second okay – let me just make sure that Ava hasn't punctured anything.”

Liza nodded and took a seat in one of the chairs that Fleur had set out around the barn. Surprisingly, most of those were intact too and it seemed that the damage had been mainly contained to their individual areas – which made sense since that was where the transformations had taken place.

When Hermione rounded the corner to Ava's area, she saw the muggle woman wearing the robe that Fleur had left for her. The blonde witch had figured that if they took off their clothes first in the privacy of their individual areas before transforming it could save them some ruined outfits. She'd also left them all soft robes to put on after the transformation since both Tonks and Remus had said that if the transformations went poorly one could be _so_ stiff and sore that re-dressing was an impossible task.

And it was clear that Ava was in pain, she was slouched against the barn wall covered in sweat and clutching her side tightly.

“I can still breathe,” she gave a pained smile. “So, I don’t think it's too bad.”

“Well let's take a quick look,” Hermione kept her voice reassuring as she quickly cast a diagnostic charm.

The bubbles appeared over the muggle woman’s head and Hermione examined them carefully. Sure enough two ribs were broken on her right side from when her rib cage had expanded then collapsed. They’d not properly healed post change but the breaks were clean and easy – and there was no other lingering damage.

“You’re right,” Hermione smiled genuinely at the woman before her. “Clean breaks – easy enough to fix and a relatively painless spell. Just hold still and I'll heal them up.”

Ava nodded and waited patiently while Hermione knelt by her side and cast a quick _episkey_. She grunted as an audible crack came from her side and the ribs realigned and mended but her expression softened as the pain from the break faded away and it no longer hurt to breathe.

“Nothing else?” Ava asked her, eyeing the diagnostic that floated above her head with curious eyes.

“No,” Hermione smiled, but she paused as she watched Ava’s eyes tracing the bubbles with interest and she felt her brow furrow with thought. There was no reason why a muggle couldn’t be taught to read the charm even if they couldn't cast it.

 _Why didn’t I think of that?_ she inwardly berated herself for not realizing that Ava might be curious to _learn_ magic even if she couldn’t use it. It seemed stupid in hindsight that she’d not considered it before.

“Ava,” Hermione said curiously as she helped the woman to her feet. “Would you like to learn how to read the diagnostic charm?”

Ava froze, her eyes meeting Hermione’s carefully and curiously. She’d been reaching for her sweater off the chair near her cot, but her attention was now entirely diverted.

“Is – would that be okay? Are you allowed to teach people like me how to read magic?” Ava asked quietly, her voice a bit unsure. “Because I would like to if you can – even though I can’t ever cast it, it seems useful – it seems like a good skill to have, and maybe it might make me a bit more useful in emergencies.”

“Of course,” Hermione said firmly. “You're part of this world Ava, it’s perfectly fine for you to learn. There is no rule or law that says that you can’t _teach_ muggles who already know about the magical world how to _understand_ magic – the laws simply forbid witches and wizards from announcing the magical world to the mass muggle public. The point is to limit exposure but there are muggles out there who know about us either because they’re in situations like yours or because they have muggleborn witches and wizards in the family. They’re bound to secrecy, yes, but there isn’t anything in place to stop them from learning about magic. That said – even if there was a law that said I _couldn't_ teach you I'd do it anyway. You're going to be spending your life with us – Charlie is going to grow up in this. There is no valid reason why you can’t be taught to understand certain spells or even how to brew potions that don’t require the use of magic to complete so long as you’re supervised and understand the risk. It’s no different than working with chemicals as the muggles do – we just need to do it safely.”

Ava’s face crumpled in reaction and she swallowed hard and nodded as she looked at Hermione sincerely.

“Thank you,” Ava said quietly. “Thank you, Hermione – that means more thank you think.”

“I should have thought of it earlier,” Hermione shook her head. “It was a massive oversight of mine.”

Ava laughed and grimaced as her sore muscles ached. “You have had other things to worry about ahead of teaching me magic. You've all done lots already to make me feel welcomed as it is.”

“Do you need help getting dressed?” Hermione asked the woman.

“No, I think I can manage – but do you have anything for this general pain I'm feeling pretty much everywhere in my body?” Ava said with a small laugh. “Because it _really_ sucks.”

Hermione smiled and pulled a flask from her purse.

“Calming draught,” she handed the entire small bottle to the woman. “Drink the whole thing. It will relax your muscles and reduce the tightness. If it still hurts after that we can add some muggle ibuprofen – but we’ll start with this.”

“Thanks,” Ava took the bottle and bit the stopper out, downing the whole thing without a moment’s hesitation. “I'll be out in a second.”

Hermione took her leave and returned to Liza who was patiently waiting on the chair just around the corner.

“Hermione?” Liza asked quietly as she watched the witch kneel to examine her leg. She’d already rolled up her pant leg in advance to show a large deep bruise and only two small puncture wounds.

“Yes?” Hermione asked as she worked, quickly casting a diagnostic bubble and confirming that the injuries were minor. These could be fixed quickly with bruise paste and a small amount of dittany. All of Liza’s bones though had returned to their normal shape and aside from the general soreness that everyone would be feeling – there were no lingering injuries from her transformation.

“Can you teach me too?”

Hermione’s eyes darted up to the girl.

“Yes, of course Liza,” she said softly. “I'll teach you everything that I can.”

“Thank you,” Liza gave her a tired smile as she leaned back against the chair and lazily watched Hermione pour dittany over the small scratches and two punctures. She didn’t even flinch as the green smoke billowed and hissed while the skin reformed.

“I knew it was you,” she said in a tired raspy voice. “At the fence line, that's why I wanted to come over.”

Hermione’s hands froze and she felt her heart well with hope.

“You did?” Hermione said almost breathlessly as her heart began to race with excitement. She could practically feel the weight of her runes floating away as her mind began working to figure out what else they could do to improve these bands.

“Yeah, it wasn’t perfectly clear – but I recognized you all and I knew that I knew you. I remember wanting to bite you when I first saw you but the calmer I became the more I remembered knowing what was happening when it was happening,” Liza said thoughtfully. “Some parts are like watching a movie that I don’t remember being a part of, like the memories are there in my head but I don’t remember being present when it actually happened. But – most of them are just regular memories. I remember being there, I remember thinking that you all looked nervous – I remember most of it as actually _being_ there.”

Hermione heard a noise to her right and she turned to see Harry standing there with a look on his face that perfectly emulated how she felt in the moment. Disbelief, hope, excitement – a bizarre saddened happiness that she couldn’t articulate.

“Arthur said something very similar,” Harry said quietly and then his face broke out into a full grin. “And so did Colin.”

It took them another twenty minutes to de-band everyone, clean them up with a _scourgify_ and pack everything up. Remus joined them partway through looking dazed, exhausted and groggy just like what Mrs. Weasley had described. Apparently, he'd slept most of the night, but you wouldn't know it by looking at him.

He looked worse off than the others.

Nasir and Bill offered to help apparate everyone back to the cottage but before letting everyone go Hermione completed a final diagnostic check with Harry to confirm there was no lingering damage and she quietly asked each werewolf if they were up for a big Weasley style breakfast. She knew that everyone at the cottage meant well but she also knew that the werewolves were exhausted from their night and might want to be alone. She wanted to give them an out without them feeling pressured to join in because she couldn’t blame them if they weren't feeling up to it. She offered them the chance to sleep the soreness from the night off under dreamless sleeping draught in the safety of the barn or in their rooms at the cottage. Everyone refused except for Colin who quickly took her up on the offer but requested to stay at the cottage in the room that he'd shared with Mr. Ollivander the night before. Hermione agreed and had Bill bring the man to the cottage separately.

Mrs. Weasley apparated Arthur and Nasir took Remus while Harry and Hermione took Ava and Liza each. Despite the fact that it was now after 7 am and no one had slept a wink – the group was buzzing with a bizarre amount of energy and Ava was antsy to see Charlie again.

They agreed to eat, visit, briefly discuss everything that had happened with the group and then go right to bed as per Hermione and Harry's instruction. She wanted them all to recover as quickly as possible, so she made them all promise to sleep for a solid 4 hours, get up to eat a late lunch, keep their activities to a minimum and then have an early dinner and go straight to bed by no later than 8 pm. They seemed lively now – but Hermione delayed the full debriefing and questioning regarding the effectiveness of the bands until later Sunday afternoon because she knew that once they ate, they’d crash.

And she was right.

Their initial arrival at the Cottage was received with loud voices, excitement, hugs, and triumph like they’d come back from battle. Ava and Liza smiled brightly as they chatted with the table, happily ate food and answered questions about what it was like to be a werewolf. Ava held Charlie firmly on her lap throughout the entire meal and spoke quietly to a rather groggy looking Remus once the initial wave of excitement had died down. Fred, George and Luna fawned over Hermione’s description of how adorable Liza had looked and behaved – the girl blushed and took the three chocolate frogs that Fred gave to her with a huge smile. Her eyes shone with excitement when Fred told her that he’d brought her fireworks too as per Harrys request, but she seemed disappointed that she’d have to wait to use them until the following day.

Arthur watched the commotion in the kitchen from the head of the table with a tired yet peaceful look after he personally thanked both Harry and Hermione for keeping him safe throughout the night. Fleur beamed when Remus said the blankets were indeed rather comfortable and Bill lovingly held her hand throughout the entire meal as he fought back yawns of exhaustion. Nasir remained silent, sitting quietly at Hermione’s side and watching the commotion with no hint of interest – but Hermione knew better. She knew that he was listening to every single conversation just like he always was, even the quiet one that Ron was having with Dean at the far end.

Shacklebolt declared that the last twenty-four hours had been a game-changer and that once the war was over, and once key personnel had been strategically removed from the Ministry, he would personally take the initiative to both fund and direct massive changes regarding werewolf legislation. He gave them a condensed version of how he planned to make the changes within the Ministry to better werewolf rights and care – and it became abundantly clear to anyone in the room who knew anything about the inner workings of the Ministry that this was something that the man had been developing for a long time. Apparently, since he’d first met Remus and these bands were the final piece of the puzzle. They were the catalyst that could affect the major changes that he’d been lining up in the wings with Remus’ input and sway those who doubted the change.

He asked Hermione and Harry to consider working with him on the project after the war and he even said that he would file the paperwork required to have them both exempt from completing seventh year at Hogwarts. Instead he’d have them both listed as viable candidates to write a condensed NEWT test. He made it clear that it was their choice – that he would respect whatever they chose to do and would wait for them if they wanted to finish their final year. But he also made it clear that he believed them returning to Hogwarts would be a waste of time since he seemed to think that there was nothing that the traditional seventh year curriculum would teach them that they didn’t already know. He thought that their time would be better spent either working, enrolled in a post-Hogwarts apprenticeship education program or pursuing research.

Neither Hermione nor Harry knew what to say in that moment – they themselves had yet to figure out what they would do after the war and they were grateful that he didn’t pressure them. He just told them to think about it and they agreed that they would.

Shortly after that the crash happened almost like clockwork and people’s eyes began to droop. The werewolves were quickly sent to bed and Fleur and Bill shooed everyone else home or to their rooms to nap – they point blank refused to let anyone help them clean up the kitchen. After being shooed for a second time by Fleur, Hermione finally conceded and left the cottage with Harry, Nasir and the twins. She was excited to catch a brief few minutes of sleep before completing the wand core insertion with Nasir and her mind was already racing once more when the twins interrupted her thoughts.

“Oh hey – Harry, Hermione,” George said as he approached them. “I forgot about this.”

“About what?” Hermione asked curiously as she watched him rummage around through his pockets while she leaned tiredly against Harry’s side. She noticed that Nasir had continued walking back to his tent. “I really don’t need any chocolate frogs – but I appreciate you offering earlier.”

“No,” George snorted as he continued digging around. “Not chocolate frogs.”

“A letter,” Fred said as he pulled an envelope from his pocket. “Geez, George – you really are tired. I was the one that packed it.”

George let out a sigh, a look of exhaustion covering his face as he rubbed his brow. It was a rare sight to see the twins outwardly tired and weary.

“Yeah,” George said quietly. “It’s been a long night. We just found it yesterday but with everything going on I almost forgot.”

“Here,” Fred held out the letter and Hermione took it curiously. When she flipped it over in her hands, she saw the words _‘for Harry and Hermione ONLY – I’m not fucking around, I mean it!_ ’ written on the front. The writing looked familiar and yet she couldn’t place it.

“Who’s it from?” Hermione asked, her eyes shifting back up to look at the twins as her brow furrowed.

“Ginny,” George said. “At least we’re 99.98% sure it’s from her – we examined it thoroughly and I’d know her delayed bat bogey hex anywhere – and I have no intentions of _fucking around_ with it.”

“It’s been sealed to only open for you two anyways – not sure where she learned how to do that,” Fred said with a hint of a smile on his lips. “But we wouldn’t have been able to open it even if we wanted to.”

“The writing is hers too, and we traced the envelope – no one else but her and us have touched it,” George said tiredly. “We wouldn’t have given it to you two otherwise, but it’s extremely unlikely that it’s a trap.”

“Might want to toss a shield on just in case before you open it though,” Fred added with a nod. “Looks like the hex goes off if someone tries to tamper with it – but just in case, you don’t want to get hit with that.”

“No kidding,” Harry said quietly as Hermione passed him the letter to examine. “Thank you – for passing this through.”

“No problem,” George nodded.

“How did you get it?” Hermione asked him.

“It was hidden in with the supply request we got from them on Thursday,” Fred said, his face still sporting his rare serious expression. “We didn’t notice it right away because she hid it so damn well – it’s almost like she didn’t want anyone else in the DA to know that she stuck it in there, or for Aberforth to find it.”

“It’s actually lucky we found it at all,” George said quietly. “I dropped the container and it cracked – that’s why I found it.”

“Strange,” Hermione said quietly, eyeing the envelope that Harry was holding.

“I know,” George said seriously. “We genuinely do think it’s safe – but – be careful with it.”

“We will,” Harry nodded. “Thank you for checking it out first – really – that means a lot.”

“Well we can’t have our chosen one dying can we,” Fred winked before he turned back to look at his twin. “Alright – I need to leave before I reach the point that it’s unsafe for me to apparate. Besides they need their rest too.”

Hermione and Harry both said goodbye, watching the twins disappear with a small pop before slowly making their way across the sand to their tent.

“Open it now or later?” Hermione asked, dropping her voice low as she moved next to Harry.

“Now,” Harry said quietly. “This could be very serious.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Hermione nodded and cast a heavy silencing charm around them. “We’ll do it fifty feet from the tent to the South – shields on and wands out.”

Harry nodded and they carefully made their way South past the wards and out of sight before stopping just a few feet shy of the water’s edge. They both cast their shields and quickly examined the letter themselves – but as the twins said, there was absolutely nothing suspicious about it besides the delayed bat bogey hex and antitampering charm.

Hermione kept her wand trained on the letter while Harry very carefully and very slowly opened it. She could feel her chest tightening with fear as he broke the seal and began to turn back the fold – but nothing happened. Her grip tightened on her wand as she watched him slowly pull out the folded piece of parchment from the envelope – but nothing happened. Her heart was racing nervously as he unfolded it and paused as if expecting the paper to ignite or for a curse to be released.

But again – nothing happened.

She watched as his eyes shifted across the paper, his brow furrowing as he read what was very clearly _just_ a letter until the silence became unbearable and she couldn’t take it.

“Harry,” Hermione said as she cautiously took a step forward. “What is it?”

“It’s a letter,” Harry said slowly, his head shaking as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just read. “From Ginny she – she wrote this to us because she worried that some of her memories would be obliviated soon and she thought that they were important. She wanted to make sure that we knew.”

“That we knew what?” Hermione asked, her heart rate not dropping in the least as Harry’s confusion turned to a look that she’d seen many times before.

“Susan punched Snape in the face,” Harry said in disbelief, his brow creasing as the letter dropped to his side and he looked Hermione dead in the eyes. “And he _let_ her.”

_"What?"_

(to be continued…)

-x-x-

For regular updates on the progress or to chat come join the group: https://discord.gg/gQ gW Nx (remove spaces)

Well… so there are some things happening in life that need my time and attention. I am still going to try and maintain a weekly update schedule – I’m doing the best I can, and I refuse to give up on _trying_ to maintain a schedule because that helps me stay organized. But I do want to be upfront and say that there are going to be times within the next little while where my posting is late/delayed.

So, I hope that you all are patient with me and that you forgive me if my posts become a bit erratic in terms of what day it gets uploaded. Once again – thank you very much for reading. I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting replying to comments, I do read them all I’ve just been shy on time. Though I remain hopeful that I will get to them eventually!

I love you all (very much)

<3 Tori


	59. Chapter Fifty-Nine: Severus Snape - Part Five (ft. Hermione and Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Harry discuss the note from Ginny, Nasir avoids answering questions like usual and Snape witnesses Voldemort's rage beginning to snap before having an unexpected meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Today we start with Hermione and Harry… then we go check up on my favourite miserable potions master. <3 I hope that you’re in the mood for some Snep today.  
> 2\. Your feedback is always appreciated and so are the kudos you guys leave, thank you so much for those :)  
> 3\. Friendly reminder... I have NO beta reader. I write, edit and post each updated in 1-2 days each week. There are mistakes littered throughout this story and while I am working to comb back through old chapters and fix them when I can - I am bound to miss a few. Please be patient with me, just some things slip through.
> 
> Know that you are loved <3
> 
> JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Updates on Sundays +/- a few days. Things are crazy right now but I’m still trying for weekly.

**Warnings:**

This chapter contains: implied torture

******************************************

Hermione drummed her fingers on the table. Her eyes boring a hole into the letter that sat on the worn surface between her and Harry. She felt dumbfounded – positively dumbfounded by the contents and after reading it over multiple times and discussing it at length with Harry for the last forty-five minutes she still couldn’t really swallow the information.

How could this be possible – and better yet, why would Snape have allowed it?

According to Ginny’s letter Susan had run into Snape only moments after finding out that her parents had been murdered. Like – _literally_ run into him. She’d full speed ploughed directly into the man and nearly knocked him to the ground. However, that piece of information was nothing in comparison to the details that followed because according to Ginny, Susan had cursed at the man, screamed in his face and then punched him directly in the nose. Yet Snape had stood there and done nothing; and had allegedly allowed the girl to beat the ever-loving crap out of him until she broke something, and then he finally stopped her.

Ginny recounted that he’d called her _Susan_. He’d told her to ‘ _calm down’_. He’d held her up as she fell apart before him while screaming at him that she hated him before he _gently_ sat her on a window ledge and then obliviated her with no repercussions for her actions.

Allegedly.

It was so uncharacteristically Snape that even she had a hard time believing that the events documented in the letter were real. Both she and Harry knew it was possible that the letter was a fake even if their detection charms revealed nothing. They both knew that it was possible someone had either forced Ginny to write the letter or had posed as her and written it themselves. But that made no sense either. For what purpose would this fake letter serve aside from frustrating them and wasting their time? Why on earth would anyone expend that much energy and go to those lengths to try and convince them that this had happened and misdirect them with information about Professor Snape?

On that premise alone both she and Harry fully agreed that the letter had to be from Ginny. Adding on top of that the fact that the handwriting was unmistakably hers, the composition and word choice was her style, no one else had touched the envelopes, _and_ Ginny had used a phrase within the letter that she and Harry had agreed upon a year ago to use in their communications the letter was undeniably from Ginny.

Sure, someone could have learned all that through legilimency but then they were back to the original question of why on earth would someone fake this? Why would anyone go through the effort of interrogating Ginny and hiding this letter for the twins to find?

What the hell for and to gain what?

That option, as shocking and uncomfortable as it was to admit it, made even less sense than Snape allowing Susan to punch him. Which left them exactly where they’d started: believing that the letter was indeed real and then trying to understand why. This just left Hermione feeling tired and weary as a rather formidable headache began to form at the front of her skull as she tried to force her tired mind to use logic and come up with a reasonable explanation.

She and Harry had stopped talking about five minutes ago, both of them just staring at the letter in silence as they sat with the only conclusion that both of them could come to: there was more to the story of Severus Snape and clearly neither of them had all the information. Clearly the man was either working with someone other than Voldemort, working for himself, or – _unbelievably_ – he was still trying to assist the Order. Those were the only three plausible explanations but no matter how they cut the cake they just could not rationalize that Snape could be working 100% for Voldemort and allow Susan to get away with such behaviour – not when they factored in the return of Hermione’s wand and the previous discussion that they’d had about the tall intimidating potions master. Not when they both knew that he could have killed Harry last year when fleeing the castle after Dumbledore’s death, or that he could have captured Harry and taken him to Voldemort but hadn’t.

 _No,_ Hermione thought as her eyes shifted to Harry’s tight expression. _Something else is going on here_.

The only question that remained was what?

They’d both agreed to continue on as per their already agreed to plan since the new information, while interesting and a bit mind-boggling, really didn’t change anything. They were still going to keep Snape alive and they were still going to take him in for questioning when the opportunity came because their biggest concern right now was the possibility of another threat after Voldemort. They needed to talk to the man, and they needed to be sure that they didn’t just swap out one power-hungry demon for another that could be lurking in the shadows.

Yet acknowledging the small possibility that Snape could still, maybe, possibly be on their side was hard for Harry – and she knew this.

She could see it on his face. She could see him struggling with his hatred toward the man as he fought to keep his mind focused on facts and follow logic. She knew that he _hated_ this – he hated the idea that he might have been wrong and that someone as horrible and cruel as Professor Snape could potentially be an ally. It was pretty much like grating Harry’s emotions against a cheese grater and asking him to abandon everything that he’d known to be true for the last seven years. He’d struggled to process the idea the last time it came up and he was struggling again.

It was hard and it didn’t help that neither one of them had slept in over 24 hours. They’d had a long night with the werewolves, and this was another layer on a complicated cake they’d not wanted. Life was asking a lot of them and right now they both needed a break.

“Harry,” Hermione said quietly when she could no longer take the deafening silence that rang out between them. She instinctually reached across the table and took his hand but before she could say anything else, he cut her off.

“I just wish we could talk to him,” Harry said tightly as he squeezed her hand and met her eyes with an exhausted look. “I wish we could break into Hogwarts, corner him in his office and then ask him what the fuck is going on.”

“I know,” Hermione said sadly. “But that would be incredibly dangerous Harry – we can’t go anywhere near Hogwarts until we get rid of these Horcruxes and gain an upper hand.”

“It wouldn’t matter anyway,” Harry said with a hint of annoyance in his voice. “There’s no way in hell that man would talk to me or tell us anything. He fucking hates me – even if he _is_ still helping us it doesn’t change the fact that he’s a dick and he spent his life tormenting us at school.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Hermione frowned as she thought back to the incident in fourth year where her teeth grew painfully large and Snape did absolutely nothing about it. “Which is why this is all the more unbelievable – but I still don’t see how or why this could be fake.”

“I know,” Harry groaned and rubbed his forehead with his opposite hand before giving her a defeated look. “I _know_ the letter is real, I’m just much more inclined to believe that Snape is in this for himself – or is helping someone else in the shadows. If he was helping _us_ why hasn’t he said something? After Dumbledore died – after the werewolves were created and everything else going on at the Ministry and Hogwarts – if he was still helping us why wouldn’t he reach out to us? Why wouldn’t he let us know? You said you thought you saw him at the Manor before we left – which means he would have seen what we did. Surely he knows that if we were to see him now we’d kill him on spot. Wouldn’t he want to tell us if he was helping?”

“You would think so,” Hermione nodded and gave Harry a small smile. “But maybe he thinks we’re a risk. He knew about your connection to _You know Who,_ Harry – maybe he thinks he _can’t_ tell us.”

“Maybe,” Harry nodded slowly. “Or maybe he plans to try and take the snake’s role once he’s dead, maybe he’s just waiting in the wings – he’s a powerful man I’ll admit to that, he could do it if he wanted to. Or maybe he’s helping someone else.”

“Maybe,” Hermione nodded and squeezed Harry’s hand tighter. “But he’s such a secretive and solitary man – which only makes it harder. I doubt anyone knows what’s going on. It’s not like he has any friends or acquaintances that we can go interrogate more easily than breaking into Hogwarts.”

“Well,” Harry said slowly as the chimes surrounding their tent dinged softly. “That’s not entirely true.”

Hermione raised a brow at him before turning to look at the entrance just in time to see Nasir enter the quiet tent. Harry was looking at the tall mysterious man quite intently and Hermione already knew exactly what was going through her partner’s head. Nasir took three steps into the tent and froze, he gave them a long look, his eyes flicking over their tired frames before he spoke in his low deep baritone.

“You didn’t sleep,” he stated it. It wasn’t a question – he knew they’d been up.

“No,” Harry said flatly as he leaned back in his chair and dropped his hold on Hermione’s hand. His eyes dropped to the letter on the table as if trying to direct Nasir’s gaze to it. “Been preoccupied.”

“I see,” Nasir said slowly. His eyes flicked briefly to the letter on the table then back to the two of them – he asked no questions and showed no interest in its contents. “Maybe some coffee before we get started.”

“Professor Snape taught you legilimency correct?” Hermione asked the tall tanned man as she watched him moving towards their kitchen.

“I believe he is currently the Headmaster,” Nasir said with a bored tone as he grabbed the kettle and began to fill it with water.

“Indeed, he is,” Harry said quietly. His voice was almost unnaturally calm, and Hermione’s eyes flicked back to him. Harry was staring at her intently, his eyes flicking between her and the letter as he raised a brow and nodded toward the tall man currently making coffee in their kitchen. His message was clear – but Hermione sincerely doubted that trying to interrogate Nasir about the potions master was going to get them anywhere. She gave him a look indicating her doubt and hesitation, but Harry simply shrugged and gave her a look back that read ‘ _what have we got to lose’._ He wasn’t wrong, so Hermione let out a quiet sigh and gave him a small smile. It was their only option aside from trying to break into the school and question the man directly. 

“My question still stands,” Hermione said slowly. She took the letter from the table, turned back to look at the man in their kitchen and unfolded herself from her chair. Harry had shifted in his seat, turning to look at Nasir directly as Hermione began her approach. “Did _Headmaster_ Snape teach you legilimency?”

“He did,” Nasir said flatly, returning the kettle to the counter before flicking his new fake wand at it. Hermione watched him as he pulled three cups out of the cupboard – she’d never told him where they were stored, he must have remembered from that one time when she’d gotten mugs out while he was here.

“Did you know him well?” Hermione asked as she slowly closed the distance towards the tall tanned man. She kept her voice level and innocent, just a hint of curiosity audible as she took in his tall form. Nasir’s crisp white dress shirt was a stark contrast to his black pants and similar to the basic clothes that Snape seemed to wear constantly under his robes. Though Nasir had evidently left his outer robes at his tent, either not wanting them or knowing that they would only get in the way. He was very practical, calculating, quiet – in fact, in many ways he was very similar to Snape.

“Hard to say,” Nasir said slowly. His response was a good sign, he’d not yet closed down and refused to speak all together. “He was always a difficult man to read – for most people.”

“But not for you,” Hermione said slowly and to her surprise Nasir turned around to look at her directly.

“Is there something that you want to ask me, Hermione,” Nasir said darkly. A familiar glint was sparking in his eyes and it made Hermione’s stomach twist nervously as he watched her like a hawk. He seemed to take in every aspect of her movement as she grew closer and clutched the letter tight in her hand. She could hear Harry getting up from his chair and shifting around the table to lean against the edge nearest to them.

“You’ve met with him, he’s taught you,” Hermione said as she held the letter out to him. His eyes glanced down to the parchment and she saw him scan it quickly before looking back to meet her gaze. She lowered her voice and levelled him with a serious look. “I think you know him better than most – and I want to know if you know what _this_ is.”

“It would appear to be a letter from the youngest Weasley – Ginny I believe, she is your friend is she not?” Nasir said quietly, his dark glinting eyes locked to Hermione’s face.

“She is,” Hermione said carefully but she felt her jaw clench with irritation. Yes, she should have phrased that better, but the man was obviously set to avoid the question he knew she was asking. “I know _what_ it is – I want to know if you think this is possible.”

“I’m not sure why you think I’d have knowledge about the possible behaviours of seventeen-year-old females,” Nasir said dryly though his eyes were now shining with amusement. “I really can’t say if Susan would be the type to punch a Headmaster in the face.”

“You’re evading the question like you always do,” Hermione said flatly, her brow rising in challenge as she stepped forward and all but pressed the letter into his chest. He took it from her, but his eyes didn’t leave her face as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Never once have I tried to make you answer something that you didn’t want to – if you don’t want to answer this question now, _fine –_ but don’t act stupid. It’s unbecoming of you and it plainly doesn’t work. If you don’t want to tell me about your relationship with Snape, how you met him or what you know about him then fine, just don’t answer it.”

Nasir stared at her for a long quiet second, his eyes flicking over to Harry before his gaze narrowed a fraction and he looked back to Hermione. There was a shift in his features, a blatant knowing look behind his eyes as he stared at her seriously – and it made her think that he indeed did know Snape. That he knew _FAR_ more than he’d let on.

“Alright,” Nasir said slowly. His glinting eyes met her challenging ones as he took a step towards her and closed the distance to a foot. His eyes glanced down at the letter he was now holding for a second time, then he looked at her evenly and lowered his voice to a steady and serious tone. “What’s your question, Hermione?”

“Is this real?” Hermione said jerking her head at the letter as she fought to keep herself calm. She’d not been expecting him to jerk her around like he had, but she’d definitely not been expecting this – for him to look like he might actually give them some answers. She could feel hope mixed with nervousness expanding in her chest like a balloon as she spoke her next words carefully. “You _know_ him – I know you do. Or at least you _knew_ him at some point, and I think you knew him better than anyone else. We need to know if this could have actually happened?”

“You’re asking me if I _believe_ that Headmaster Snape allowed a seventeen-year-old girl to punch him in the face and smack him around repeatedly – then obliviated her and let her go without consequences to cover it up?” Nasir said quietly, his gaze was intense, and she could hear Harry shift behind her in anticipation.

“Yes,” Hermione said firmly, her jaw tight as she looked up at him. She could feel her heart racing at the possibilities of answers. “That’s _exactly_ what I’m asking. Because if he did – well I’m sure you understand what that means.”

“I do,” Nasir said darkly, his eyes practically burning as he stared at her. “It’s hard to say.”

Hermione waited, watching him tensely, desperate for him to respond. For him to add something else to those four simple words – but he continued to remain silent and she felt the bubble of hope and anxiety that had been building in her chest pop in disappointment.

He wouldn’t tell them anything.

She could practically feel Harry’s defeat as his shoulders fell and she let out a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. This was a waste of time. She knew this would happen – she didn’t know why she’d allowed herself to get her hopes up and think for a second that he would share anything. She gave Harry a quiet look – if they truly wanted answers they would need to get into the school and get their hands on the man themselves. Harry gave her a small nod and turned to make his way back to his seat, but just as the thought of breaking into the school had crossed her mind and she was about to head back to the table Nasir’s deep voice sounded again and she froze on spot. Both of them stood motionless holding their breath and watching the tall man tensely as he spoke clearly and slowly.

“But _IF_ it did happen,” Nasir said slowly as he fixed them both with an intense stare. She felt a chill run down her spine, he was looking at them as if he knew what they’d been thinking. “He would have good cause to keep that fact secret and your friend would not only not remember it – there wouldn’t even be a _hint_ of that event left lingering in her mind. It would already be completely erased, and I would suggest that you don’t try to contact her about it. In fact–“

Nasir’s voice dropped lower and his gaze somehow became more intensified. Hermione felt like she was being sucked into it as her skin prickled and her body went cold. This was the most serious she’d seen the man before her since he’d made her promise to leave him if he told her to – and _that_ was significant.

“ _If_ this did happen – it would be prudent for you to keep this information entirely confidential,” Nasir said darkly, his eyes flicking to Harry as he slowly held the letter out toward them. “If there is one thing that I can tell you about Headmaster Snape – it is that he is a dedicated, logical, and calculating man who does not do anything without cause. Surely, you’ve both realized the weight that this letter holds and that it would be catastrophic for all those still at Hogwarts if this information were to come to light, because I can assure you – _Tom,_ is not a forgiving man.”

Hermione felt the hairs prickle at the base of her skull – the message was clear as crystal.

Nasir would never clarify how he knew Snape or how _well_ he knew Snape. He would never clarify if Snape was on _their_ side, or if the man was working for himself or perhaps working with himself or someone else – but he’d just made it clear as day and glaringly obvious that Snape was _not_ working entirely for Voldemort. In fact, he was probably not working for Voldemort _at all_.

There _was_ something else going on just as she and Harry had suspected, and this information was dangerous. The ramifications of it getting out were likely beyond their capacity to fully anticipate or prepare for.

Whatever was going on – was clearly dangerous and risked the lives of many including their friends at Hogwarts.

Hermione heard the wooden floorboards of the tent squeak and her head twisted to watch as Harry silently crossed the room into the kitchen. He paused a few feet short of Nasir, the tall man eyed him with interest as Harry reached out and took the letter carefully from his hand. Then, to Hermione’s surprise, Harry set the paper alight between his fingers with a perfectly controlled _incendio_.

“So – coffee first, then the procedure,” Harry said calmly though Hermione could see the tension in his jaw.

Nasir’s choice words had been both specific and explicit – he’d said Snape was _dedicated_ and he’d just all but outright confirmed their suspicion that the potions master was still helping. Or at least that _that_ option was the most likely of the three that they’d come up with, and Harry was no doubt struggling internally to process it. It was hard for him to accept that Snape would allow Susan to punch him let alone go to such lengths to protect the girl and the other students in the school by hiding it. It raised the question of what other things had happened that they didn’t know about?

Had Snape given Hermione’s wand to Nasir and _asked_ him to return it? It was unbelievable and harder to swallow than Polyjuice potion – but no matter how much Harry doubted it and how hard it was for him to come to terms with it he would never risk the safety of their peers at Hogwarts by keeping such a damming piece of evidence.

Harry let the ashes of the letter fall to the ground before he nonchalantly returned to the table and took his seat once more. “Sounds like a good plan to me – I could use some caffeine.”

The kettle had started to whistle behind Nasir, matching the breaking point of tension within the tent perfectly as she tried to relax her shoulders and keep her mind from spinning with a million other questions. She watched the last piece of ash float to the ground and crumple into a tiny pile of soot and she found herself nodding in subconscious agreement to Harry’s stance. They would carry on, and they would keep it secret.

“I’ll start locking my journal and coding our research notes,” Hermione said quietly as she turned her eyes back to Nasir. His dark piercing gaze was practically gleaming as he looked at her and nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Smart girl,” his deep voice rumbled, then he turned and made his way toward the kettle.

-x-x-

**April 13, 1998**

**Hogwarts, 8:47 pm**

Rain pounded against the windows of Hogwarts, the heavy thudding filling the halls with racket and leaving an almost unnatural chill in the air for the month of April. The students were all hiding within their dormitories and house common rooms, all too happy to be inside and safely away from the Carrows after a long and stressful day. It’d been like this all day, as if the entire United Kingdom was being drenched and preyed upon by an unnatural storm that covered the small islands. Yet Snape hardly noticed it as he laid motionless on his large bed and dead to the world around him.

He’d hardly noticed it when he’d arrived at the castle either after apparating from his home in Cokesworth to the Headmaster's office. He’d landed just after noon with an abnormally loud crack, still covered in small flecks of mud from the Malfoy’s drive and hunched over in agony. He’d not bothered responding to Dumbledore’s voice as it called out to him with desperate concern. He’d not had the energy to hear the annoying man speak so he’d entirely ignored the dead Headmaster’s words – not even looking toward the man as he limped painfully toward his quarters, his mind focused solely on the silence and solitude that awaited him inside.

He’d wanted to be alone. He’d wanted to be alone and he’d wanted to go back to sleep.

Waking up with Narcissa at his side had been oddly comforting – and yet it had also unsettled him, made him _uncomfortable_ and had added to his ever-growing list of concerns. He’d not wanted anyone to witness what happened. He’d not wanted anyone to see him weakened or for anyone to know that he’d made a deal that involved dark magic. Sure – Narcissa didn’t know the particulars of _what_ the deal was, but she was a smart witch and Snape had no doubt that she had her suspicions. She was a Black after all, and her family’s history was tangled tightly with the use of runes and blood binding magic.

She was both the best and worst person that could have found him lying there unconscious. The best because he trusted her to keep quiet about what happened, she didn’t truly support the Dark Lord and she wasn’t a risk because she kept her mind locked tight. But the worst because of the way that she’d looked at him. She trusted him, and she’d somehow come to care – and Snape could not afford to have people _care_ about him.

Caring led people to make poor, rash and stupid decisions. It made people skip past the logical and act emotionally. It made people vulnerable and made them ask questions that he didn’t want to answer. It made people want to get involved in things that they should stay away from – and Narcissa Malfoy needed to stay away from him because he was a fucking mess and was already one foot in the grave.

How she’d come to care about him _at all_ was beyond him and he was still struggling to wrap his head around the way that she’d looked at him and _held_ his hand. He was there to support _her_ and not the other way around – and he was only doing it because despite what people thought she wasn’t a cold-hearted monster. She deserved the chance to start over and make choices for herself instead of getting lumped in with her idiot husband. It was bad enough that she had to clean up his fucking mess.

But if she tried to get tangled in his web of deceit it would only lead to misery and more death – she had no idea the extent of everything going on and what could happen if she got involved. He knew his role in this war, he knew what he needed to do, and he knew that he needed to do it alone. He was already condemned. He was married to this cause and bound by his life – there was no room for involving other people.

So as much as he’d appreciated her help and, in some way, owed the woman his life – he would push her away like he did with everyone else and he would fight this war on his own until his very last breath.

The apparition back to the castle had been a hard blow to his already injured body and it’d left him ragged. It’d felt like he’d fallen down a set of stairs, collided with a wall and then had his head bashed in – he would know, that’d happened before.

It’d left him weakened. It’d made it hard to breathe and he’d barely had the energy to walk across the office to his quarters while ignoring the portraits almost as if in a daze of pain. He’d only barely heard Phineas as the man mentioned something about the werewolf den and the operation being a success. It had registered in the dark recesses of Snape’s mind that the information was important and that he should care more about it and yet he’d been unable to bring himself to do anything other than nod to Phineas in acknowledgement before ripping open the door to his quarters and throwing it closed behind him.

The headache potion that Narcissa had given him had helped at the time but the apparition had all but undone the effects and he’d found it hard to concentrate or function after landing in the office.

He’d silently summoned a new bottle and some calming draught from his stores and downed both vials entirely – full well knowing that they would do little to help him. The massive majority of his pain wasn’t something that could be treated by any known magic or potion. He’d already tried casting a numbing charm on his entire body, he’d already tried occluding it away and it'd hardly done anything to help. There was no way to ease the pain of having a fractured piece of one’s soul ripped out. As much as every muscle in his body hurt, as much as it was physical – it wasn’t. It ached and hurt in a way that he wasn’t able to describe because the English language simply had no word to define the feeling.

How did one capture the raw agony of losing a piece of yourself? How did one describe the feeling of being torn apart on a molecular and spiritual level?

You didn’t.

It just fucking hurt.

Like a heartbreaking agony that’d left him feeling worse than he’d ever felt before in his life – it was made worse by the fact that he could not rest and heal like he needed to. He should have stayed in Cokesworth. He shouldn’t have apparated. He shouldn’t have moved for at least twenty-four hours after it’d happened, but he’d had no choice because life was cruel and unfair – and that was his lot, that was what he deserved.

He’d had to force his body to turn on the shower, force his muscles to move as he stripped off the remains of his clothes and stepped under the steaming stream of fresh water to wash the lingering bits of mud from his hair. Narcissa had done a pretty good job of healing him and there was no visible scar on his forehead which meant that he thankfully wouldn’t need to lie to the Dark Lord and come up with an excuse in the near future. But she’d missed the small cuts on his hands from where her nails had sunk into him like claws when Peter had been skinned alive.

 _Peter,_ Snape’s eyes had shut tight as thoughts of the man filled his head and he’d had to lean against the wall of the shower as his breath became low rasping gulps for air. He’d tried to fight back the wave of nausea that hit him. Peter had been a good man. A helpful man. The kind of man that needed to be remembered and the kind of man that any decent person would be proud to know. His death felt like a lifetime ago even though it had just happened that morning and Snape had felt his insides twisting as images began to haunt his mind one after the other.

He’d tried to push it down like he always did. He’d tried to compartmentalize it and lock it away like he did with everything else. He’d tried, Merlin he’d tried so hard but in his broken state he’d simply been unable to keep his emotions disciplined and it had spun out of control – compounding until it became so unbearable that he could no longer handle it and he’d thrown up and started to physically shake and tremble.

“Get it together,” he’d breathed as he forced his thin frame to steady under the hot water and he threaded his hands tightly into his hair. He’d known that he needed to regulate his breathing and that he needed to go the fuck to bed and sleep this off. He couldn’t afford to fall apart like this even if it was in the confines of his own shower.

So that was exactly what he’d done.

He’d washed the sick down the drain and forced his limbs to carry himself back into his bedroom. Two quick-drying charms later and he was partially clothed and entirely passed out across the surface of his bed. He’d not even managed to pull back the covers or do anything other than collapse and drift off into a deep sleep of the dead. He’d stirred only briefly when dreams of his childhood surfaced, something that hadn't happened in decades and that he blamed on the trauma to his mind after having a part of his soul ripped out – but he forgot about it quickly as he drifted back to sleep and became completely detached from the world once more.

Void of emotion or thought as his chest rose low and slow and his weary thin frame lay like a pile of broken bones in a mess of sheets. Dead to the world. Dead to the demands that people constantly placed on him and dead to the storm that continued to rage outside – at least, that was, until an agonizing pain shot through his left arm, woke him from his slumber and his mind came plummeting back into his skull like a bludger.

“ _Ughh fuck_ ,” Snape groaned as he forced his failing body to roll out of bed. He stumbled hard and had to grab the wall to prop himself up as he grit his teeth in pain. “ _FUCK._ ”

He could not do this right now – not in the state that he was in and that left him with only one option – to put yet another nail in his coffin.

He rapidly made his way over to his private potion stores, opening the secret cabinet and biting back a moan of pain as he fished out a small bottle that sat beside the odd vial that Nasir had given him. Without hesitating he ripped out the stopper and downed the entire thing. The effects were instantaneous as they always were and he groaned out in agony as his heat rate skyrocketed, his body grew warm and his muscles came back to life.

“Fu- _uucckkkk_ ,” he practically wailed as he forced himself back to his feet and summoned a shirt and clean outer robes.

He’d managed to put pants on before passing out but nothing else – the thought of fully dressing after his shower had been too much. But now with his heart racing and adrenaline pumping at beyond maximum capacity it was nothing. He dressed and had his boots on in less than five seconds – taking extra care to double-check his appearance before his wandered out into the office. He looked normal, except for his pupils which were massively dilated – he looked high.

“Well let’s call it what it is – you are fucking high,” he muttered to his reflection as he grabbed his wand off the small nightside table and made his way toward the door of his office. He would cast a glamour charm he’d learned ages ago to hide that once he got to the Manor, and so he wrenched the door open and sped into his office.

“Severus!” Dumbledore’s voice rang out immediately as he entered the room. It was panicked and laced with concern. “Severus – what happened!? Are you okay!? Why were you–“

The dead Headmaster’s voice cut short for a split second as Snape glanced to the portrait. He saw the old man’s eyes narrow and when he spoke again, this time it was laced with anger and disgust.

“You took that _stuff_ again, didn’t you?!” Dumbledore raged at him as he shifted in his frame. He looked like a caged tiger, moving back and forth in agitation but unable to actually do anything.

“Oh, is it that obvious?” Snape said snidely as he grabbed a few items off his desk and stuffed them in the pockets of his robes. His left arm and chest had gone numb, which wasn’t a good sign, but he ignored it and instead gave the old wizard before him an annoyed look. “What gave it away?”

“That stuff is going to _kill_ you Severus!” Dumbledore’s voice was dark and angry. “How many times do I have to tell you not to use those potions – you cannot be reliant on them and use them like that. You’re acting like a junkie – they’re destroying your body!”

“Well unfortunately,” Snape said flatly as he bit back a hiss of pain as the Dark Lord’s call intensified. “I’m being summoned – I don’t have a choice, not all of us are as fortunate as you to have others to do our bidding. I actually have to get my fucking hands dirty – something that _you_ will never understand. Phineas–“

Snape turned to look at the concerned looking portrait as he tucked away the last item and prepared to apparate.

“Give me a five second summary on the den.”

“The den was obliterated, Arthur was bitten, Remus was injured, they rescued eleven muggles – but everyone is safe except Nasir who they believe died in the explosion,” Phineas said rapidly as his eyes searched over Snape’s form. He was clearly looking for injury and was concerned about Snape’s 180 change between now and 8 hours ago when he’d arrived half dead.

“I seriously doubt that,” Snape said tightly as he turned and made his way to the center of the room. The odds of Nasir being dead were so low it was almost laughable. He paused for a brief second and looked back at the tight expression on Phineas’ face. “I’m fine Phineas – good work today, keep an eye and we’ll debrief later.”

With that Snape apparated for the second time post-injury and gritted his teeth as he landed hard on the wet muddy laneway of Malfoy Manor.

 _Fuck I hate this place_ , he growled internally as he quickly made his way up the path. When he got within a hundred yards of the door he cast a rapid glamour to hide the fact that his pupils were the size of his entire iris and he silently vanished the sweat that was naturally forming along his spine from his racing heart while his body worked in overdrive and his metabolism soared. Tomorrow would be painful – but for now he needed to get through this day from hell and somehow appear calm.

Upon entering the Manor, he was immediately greeted by Narcissa, who seemed to have been lingering by the door if not outright waiting for him. She gave him a careful look and he didn’t miss the pain behind her gaze as she stared at his eyes knowingly – as if she knew what he’d taken, as if she knew what he was hiding and that he was there on borrowed energy. Yet her concern quickly vanished behind a mask of impassive and well-practiced stone.

“Upstairs in the dinning room,” she said quietly, and Snape turned toward the stairs.

But she didn’t move to follow him, and he found himself naturally and unconsciously hesitating as he looked back towards her and continued to ignore the burn in his arm. Her expression was tight despite her impassiveness and the stress lines around her eyes were more pronounced.

“It’s not good,” Narcissa said barely above a whisper and he noticed that her hands tightened into balls at her side. “Bella failed – I’ve been sent to get the veritaserum among other things but – you should be okay.”

Snape nodded a strange feeling overcoming his body as her voice grew softer and she appeared almost relieved when she spoke the last words.

“I’ll see you in there soon,” Snape said quietly, and he turned and began making his way quickly up the stairs.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he entered the dining room, but he wasn’t surprised to see Bellatrix kneeling on the floor as blood dripped from her head into a puddle on the floor. He could put two and two together – the werewolf den was obliterated; the Dark Lord had just been informed and he was evidently livid. A part of him wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d outright killed Bellatrix on spot just for delivering the news – but the logical part of his brain knew that the Dark Lord suspected something else. Bellatrix would be punished yes, she would be questioned and broken – but she would live because the Dark Lord had another target. Another person that he could blame for the failure.

“My Lord,” Snape bowed low as he came to a stop inside the doorway. There was no one else in the room which was also not surprising. The Dark Lord would not want details regarding such a hard blow to his forces coming to light before he had a recovery plan in the works. It would make him appear weak and it would make his followers question his power – which was not something he would tolerate. This would be kept under wraps and handled as quietly as possible and was yet another reason why Bellatrix would make it through the night in mostly one piece.

The witch twitched at the sound of Snape’s voice, but she didn’t dare look up towards him. Which Snape interpreted as a sign that she’d been here for longer than a few minutes. She’d already been injured, as clear by the pool of blood at her knees and she’d already been knocked down several notches from her typical proud and obnoxious demeanour. From the faint tremble that wracked her body he suspected that she’d already been tortured with the _cruciatus_ as well. Yet he felt absolutely no sympathy for the woman. She was a monster – a deranged, twisted devil that had not a single ounce of humanity left in her. He could care less if she was in pain and when this war was over, she was the first of the Dark Lord’s followers that he hoped would be executed because trying to contain her was both nearly impossible and a vast waste of time and energy.

She would never change, no matter what the Dark Lord did to her she would stay loyal at his side and forever uphold the values that he’d preached. Keeping her alive after she’d tortured Alice and Frank Longbottom to insanity during the last war had been a mistake – and because of that mistake she’d been able to kill and torture more people. She’d implemented this werewolf experiment and indirectly killed countless muggles in the process. She needed to go – and if he could manage it, he’d do it himself before he took his last breath.

“Ssseverus,” the Dark Lord nodded his head in acknowledgement as he stood barefoot just a few feet before Bellatrix. Nagini was nowhere in sight, likely hiding in a safe location since the Dark Lord felt threatened by the news of the den. Snape’s keen eyes immediately took in the demon’s tight grip on his wand, the blood on his feet and the bizarre calm that seemed to linger on his face. The Dark Lord was known to have catastrophic temper tantrums at times when things went wrong – for two reasons: one, because he was insane and unstable and two, to show off his power and breed fear within the ranks. But there was no audience here today and he was controlled – and that was almost more terrifying because it meant that the man was lucid, calculating and beyond enraged.

The Dark Lord was itching to kill something and let out his anger – but he was purposely containing it. Snape could use this. So long as he didn’t become the target of his animosity, he could spin this where he needed it – he could sew doubt perhaps even in Bellatrix’s capabilities.

“How may I be of service, my Lord,” Snape asked as he righted himself from his bow. He kept his eyes locked to the Dark Lord’s red ones and didn’t spare even a glance at Bellatrix. As far as anyone in this room knew he didn’t know a thing – and his typical reaction to Bellatrix was to not react or give her attention at all – so he needed to maintain that.

“It would seem,” the Dark Lord said slowly as he took a step forward into the pool of blood and his eyes dropped to look at Bellatrix’s cowering form. “That we have a problem.”

Bellatrix trembled at his words, but she still kept her face downturn to the floor as blood continued to drip from her head to the ground.

“What do you know of the werewolf experimentation project?” Voldemort said smoothly, his eyes shifting back to lock Snape’s in a tight stare. He could feel the man poking at his mind with a wordless legilimency and he freely let him in. He never _ever_ gave resistance when the Dark Lord came snooping.

“Nothing,” Snape said slowly, his typical drawl matching the indifference on his face. “Bellatrix kept it top secret – she made it clear that I was not to be involved.”

He held the Dark Lord’s terrifying gaze and continued to allow him to poke around his head despite the agony it caused until finally – the doors to the room opened and the Dark Lord’s eyes shifted to Narcissa as she entered the room.

“Perfect timing,” Voldemort gave her a disturbing half-smile before his eyes shifted back to Snape once more. “Severus – you have served me for a long time and have not once failed me. But I’m afraid the circumstances have changed and we both know your occlumency is sound – surely you wouldn’t mind a nightcap before we continue?”

It wasn’t a question.

“Of course,” Snape said without batting an eye as he accepted the small vial that Narcissa held out to him. He uncorked the bottle and downed the entire thing in one rapid motion. His eyes never leaving the Dark Lord’s as he swallowed the contents and handed Narcissa back the vile. “You know I only serve you, my Lord.”

“Indeed,” Voldemort’s red eyes dilated as he waited three seconds for the veritaserum to kick in. Snape could feel it coursing through his veins and tugged at his mind as it mixed horribly with the potion he’d already taken. He could feel his insides twisting in agony, but he forced his face to remain impassive as he stood stock-still.

“What do you wish to know, my Lord,” Snape asked after the appropriate amount of time had passed.

“What do you know about the werewolf experiment?” Voldemort repeated as he drew another step closer.

“Nothing of substance my Lord,” Snape said robotically, allowing the words to flow like they would if the potion had actually affected him. “Bellatrix was placed in charge of the experiment approximately one year ago. I was curious to know the details and asked her about it – but she refused to tell me anything significant. She only said that it would change the war and guaranteed our success.”

“ _It would have_ ,” Voldemort said darkly as rage flashed in his eyes.

In one swift motion he grabbed Bellatrix’s hair and ripped her head back. The woman groaned in pain the source of the blood being revealed in the process. Her eye – the one that Potter and Granger had removed during their visit here, was once again missing. The Dark Lord had replaced it a week ago as a reward for her success and devotion. But now – well now a long scar ran across her face from forehead to jawbone and her empty eye socket look mangled and bloodied like he’d carved it out clumsily with a blunt knife. Yet Snape knew every single mark on her face had been deliberate. He watched silently as the Dark Lord took the second vial from Narcissa, tugged Bellatrix’s head back harder and dumped the contents down her throat as it naturally opened from the rough movement. She choked, her sputtering completely ignored as the Dark Lord continued to hold her head at the awkward angle that made it difficult to breathe as his eyes returned to Snape’s once more.

“It would seem the issue we discussed this morning has become a problem faster than I anticipated,” Voldemort spat, his anger starting to seep through as his grip on the woman’s hair tightened. Snape continued to ignore her as she groaned in pain and her body trembled. “The den was _obliterated_ sometime between 8 pm last night and 8 pm tonight – the entire operation is gone and there is nothing left.”

“My Lord,” Snape pretended to hesitate, pretended that this was new and shocking information. “You don’t think that he–“

“No, I don’t _think!_ ” the Dark Lord snapped viciously as he looked back to Bellatrix. “I went there _myself_ after Bella delivered the news – there is no way that _anyone_ within the Order would be capable of such outright destruction. No, no Severus – I don’t _think_ anything _,_ I _know_ – tell him why I _know_ dear Bella – tell him where you thought it was a good idea to place _my_ den.”

“M-my Lord I-I –“ Bellatrix fell to the ground screaming in pain, her body twitching as the Dark Lord hit her with a silent round of _cruciatus_. Snape watched motionless, his heart racing dangerously fast as her cries filled the room and the Dark Lord watched with nothing but cold disgust on his face. Narcissa stood motionless a few feet away and Snape noted that the woman didn’t even flinch. Either she’d become more detached since the ordeal that morning, or she cared a lot less about Bellatrix than people thought. When Voldemort finally stopped Bellatrix was lying on the ground and shaking all over, her breath was coming in short quick rasps and she kept gagging and whimpering in pain.

“Give her the potion,” Voldemort said darkly his eyes never leaving her twitching form as Narcissa stepped forward.

“Yes, my Lord,” Narcissa pulled a familiar looking bottle from her pocket – a weaker dose of the potion that he’d consumed only minutes ago at the castle. Clearly Narcissa was hoarding the good stuff and rationing the rest as she poured only half of the bottle in Bellatrix’s mouth before she stood and moved away once more.

“Get up,” Voldemort hissed, his gleaming eyes raking over her form as she struggled to push herself to her knees with the newfound energy the potion gave her. She likely would have fallen over if not for the Dark Lord grabbing her by the hair once more and jerking her head violently. “Tell. Him. Now.”

“At the old Bartley building,” Bellatrix whispered, her voice like broken glass though her single eye was still glaring at Snape with hate.

Snape felt his brow furrow at her words. This was his opening.

He already known where the den was, but at the time he’d not really given much thought to its location or why Voldemort was so angry about it now in hindsight. At the time he’d discovered the location he’d not thought of how it would be significant to Nasir, a wizard gifted in the dark arts on a scale that would rival the Dark Lord’s because he’d not initially anticipated Voldemort becoming aware of Nasir’s presence. He’d not considered Nasir as a pawn in this game and what it could mean or the angle it gave him – but he could see the picture forming clear within his mind now despite it being exhausted, weary and hopped up on potions.

He could see his chance to gain a clear upper hand on Bellatrix, kick her while she was down and secure his position more firmly with the Dark Lord. He could buy the Order _even_ more time by playing on the fear the Dark Lord had revealed to him that morning and he could entirely misdirect the man by playing on his already well-established paranoia. His new delusion that Nasir was out to get him was perfect – it would draw all the fire away from the school and away from the Order. This was a blatant wild goose chase that could give them a huge advantage because the Dark Lord would never believe that there was a connection between Nasir and the Order. He could leak information to the Order through Nasir and the Order would literally be able to systematically disassemble the Dark Lord’s forces without repercussion or suspicion because all the blame would be placed directly on Nasir. 

This was perfect.

This was exactly what he’d hoped to do after discussing Nasir with the Dark Lord this morning – it’d just come to fruition a lot faster. And right now, because Snape was allegedly under the influence of veritaserum – he could speak more bluntly, and it would look perfectly natural.

“You set up the werewolf operation at the old Bartley building,” Snape said flatly, twisting his face into one of disbelief as Bellatrix’s glare narrowed. “Where Rodolphus – where your husband used to keep and torture mudbloods and muggles for years?”

It disgusted him to use the word, but he ignored the pull he felt in the pit of his stomach to vomit and pushed on.

“Did you not think about the consequences of that? Did you not even bother to try finding literally _any_ other location? That building is _drenched_ in dark magic, Bellatrix,” Snape said coldly, allowing disgust at her ignorance to show on his face as he looked at her like she was the stupidest witch on the planet. He needed Voldemort to know that he agreed with him, he needed Voldemort to blame Bellatrix entirely and suspect only Nasir, so he added an additional snarky blow. “You might as well have put up a sign advertising to Nasir that–”

“I didn’t know _he_ was back!” Bellatrix snarled at him, but the Dark Lord’s face only grew more disgusted and he yanked her head back once more and she immediately fell silent.

“Even if he _wasn’t_ – the incompetent imbeciles in the _Order_ could have found that place,” Voldemort snarled at her and glared down at her hard. “ _That_ building was a festering hot spot and you didn’t even bother to add wards to contain the leeching. You were sloppy – you rolled out a welcome mat! Nasir could have located that place from miles away – you had _one_ task Bellatrix.”

Voldemort’s voice had dropped to a low and dangerous tone and fear was started to shine in Bellatrix’s eye as she began to mumble apologies and plead her devotion.

“One. Job,” Voldemort said darkly, and Snape saw the woman’s mouth fall open in a silent scream as the Dark Lord looked at her with nothing but hatred and revulsion. He’d done something, cast something – but it wasn’t _crucio_ because her body wasn’t twitching – yet she was clearly in pain. “And it will be the last job that I ever give you – you are lucky that I am a merciful Lord – lucky that I will spare you – because of you I have lost _hundreds_ of my forces and we have lost _months_ of progress and valuable research. You will pay for this Bella – but I want you to remember this day.”

Voldemort’s voice had dropped to a low whisper and he’d leaned down toward her, his face mere inches from the bloody mess before him. Bellatrix’s eye was watering, and she inhaled a sharp and ragged breath as he released whatever spell he’d cast.

“This is the day where I _chose_ to spare your life,” Voldemort whispered. “Because I am merciful – because I am a compassionate Lord.”

 _None of that is true,_ Snape thought. The only reason she was still alive was because he could not afford to lose any more bodies today and even he knew that – he’d let his anger out on the innocent. Other people would pay the price for this failure.

“But it will be the only time I spare you,” Voldemort continued in his low mesmerizing hiss that made Snape’s blood run cold. “Fail me again – disappoint me once more – and I will split you open and feed you to the few dogs you have left while I keep you alive so that you can feel _every_ second of it.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Bellatrix whispered, her whole body shaking now.

Voldemort dropped her to the floor, her limp body collapsed in her own blood with a heavy thud. Then his glaring red gaze turned back to Snape and the rage he’d kept at bay was plainly evident.

“Go to the den – track him down – and find out what he’s doing. I want to know what he is planning,” Voldemort hissed as he stalked towards Snape and leaned down in his face. The rank stench of death filled Snape’s nostrils and he had to fight not to gag as he nodded to the Dark Lord’s words. “This takes priority over everything else – I need him eliminated before he takes out any more of our forces. I don’t care how long it takes you, I don’t care what you need to get it done it – find _Nasir_ and if the opportunity presents itself – _Bring. Me. His. Head_.”

Voldemort’s white boney fingers had curled into the front of Snape’s robes and Snape could feel himself being lifted up onto his toes as the Dark Lord glared down at him like a raging demon from hell.

“Have I made myself clear?” Voldemort’s deadly voice made a shudder run through his body – but he didn’t try to hide it. He knew it was what the Dark Lord wanted and if he was being honest, he doubted he could have contained it if he’d wanted to.

“Yes, my Lord,” Snape nodded, his voice hoarse and his muscles tense.

“Good,” Voldemort was less than an inch away from his face now, his gleaming eyes and reek of death unbearable to the senses as Snape fought to keep himself in control. “You are to report to me every two days with your findings. Do not fail me Sseverus.”

With that Voldemort dropped his hold on Snape and quickly and smoothly shifted his way across the floor toward Bellatrix. He moved almost as unnaturally as Nasir – yet somehow, he was worse.

“Get out,” he snarled as he grabbed Bellatrix by the hair once more and lifted her from the ground with unnatural ease. “Bella and I still have much to talk about.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Snape said as he bowed and began backing away. He heard the same sentiment being murmured by Narcissa before they both left the room.

The door had barely shut behind them when Bellatrix’s screams began to slice through the air. Snape could see the visible tension in the woman beside him as they made their way down the stairs toward the exit and Snape was somewhat surprised when Narcissa followed him outside the Manor and shut the door tightly behind her – the echoing cries of pain being instantly silenced behind the thick oak doors. She leaned back against its surface, her face somehow whiter than its usual pale and her body somewhat hunched as her eyes stared at the ground between them and her breath came in short rasps. Without thinking much on it, Snape cast a thick silencing charm around them, and her eyes immediately darted up to his.

“Are you okay?” he said calmly. He kept his face impassive, but he scanned her over once more. She was still very clearly distraught from the events of the day – but he couldn’t blame her. She’d watched a man get skinned alive, she’d heard him have his soul ripped out, she’d seen him thrashing on the ground in agony, she’d saved him without knowing if he’d live or die, she’d seen his rune, she’d watched her sister get tortured and now she had to listen to it. It had, quite possibly, just been the worst day of her existence.

Narcissa snorted, her pale face crumpling as a deranged sort of laugh left her lips and she pushed a loose strand of hair that the wind had blown across her face behind her ear. This was the second time that she’d let him see her with her defences entirely down and he wasn’t sure what to make of that. The rain was still falling, and he could see it soaking through her outer robes – they were the same ones from the morning, but they’d been pristinely cleaned.

 _Smart woman_ , Snape thought. She’d clearly known that changing outfits would draw unwanted attention and she must have snuck home, cleaned her robes to remove the mud and returned them to their original condition from when the Dark Lord had seen her that morning to avoid suspicion. But it was the look in her eyes that concerned him. She looked genuinely amused – but not in a good way, in a sad, hopeless and somewhat deranged way.

“Am _I_ okay?” she breathed and closed her eyes tight before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. She pinched the bridge of her nose and began shaking her head as her lip twitched. When she opened them again her eyes were glossy, but she was smiling, and Snape only felt his concern grow further. “No, Severus – I am _not_ okay – but of course _you_ would ask me that question. Am I okay? _Merlin_ – you are an unbelievable man – you know that right?”

Snape couldn’t help it as his brow twitched a fraction and she only shook her head once more.

“You don’t even get it,” she whispered, and she gave him a strange look that he couldn’t quite decipher. He’d never seen her make it before and it made him uncomfortable – it didn’t help that he felt like his insides were scrambled from the mix of potions that he’d taken, and a dull sickening ache still riddled his body and mind. “You don’t even understand how absurd it is for _you_ to ask _me_ that question. How many potions did you take to be able to stand up on two legs to be here tonight, Severus? Can you even feel your limbs at this point? Have any of your organs shut down on you yet? How many Severus – how many?”

“Narcissa,” he said slowly as he took a slow step forward.

He wasn’t sure what to do or say. She was very clearly not okay, but he couldn’t answer her questions. He needed to leave to go inspect the den and come up with a plan, but he also could not leave the witch if she was on the verge of breaking down – not with the information that she knew about him now. He trusted her to keep it safe when she was of sound mind, but everyone had a breaking point and today had been more than most could handle. He needed to make sure that she was okay enough to be left alone because he could not count on Lucius to give her any emotional support because that man was in shambles himself.

“Don’t bother coming up with a lie to try and make me feel better,” Narcissa sighed as she pushed herself off the door and forced herself to stand fully. She was tall, but she was still several inches shorter than him even with her day heels on. She looked at him sadly and her voice dropped to a low whisper. “I already know you won’t answer those question Severus – just like I already know that you’re going to reject my offer for help once more – so I’ll just say this–“

She moved a step closer to him and looked up at him through the rain. He could feel his pulse quicken – but this time it had nothing to do with the potion.

“Please be careful,” she all but whispered as she blinked the rain from her perfectly blue eyes. “Things are getting worse – and I know that you’re worried about trusting me, but I promise you that I will never betray you Severus. I owe you that much – you’ve kept me and my family safe for years and it is the very least I can do since you’ll never let me do anything else to help you and you’ll never ask for a damn thing. But please–“

He felt her hand press against his chest, and he stiffened from head to toe.

“ _Please_ keep yourself safe,” her low voice was barely audible in the rain that poured over them. “Save something for after the war – there is more to life than this, and I’m afraid that you’re going to lose yourself in the bloodshed. I didn’t realize how much you were bearing all on your own, and that’s my fault – but you are worth something Severus.”

It was too much. Her words were too much and she was entirely wrong. He wasn’t worth anything and he could feel himself automatically shutting down as he occluded his emotions and locked everything away into tight little corners of his mind.

“You deserve a life after this,” Narcissa’s grip on his robes tightened. “You are more than a tool of war here to take care of those around you.”

He took a step back. He _had_ to and he saw her face fall. Her eyes watched him sadly as he retreated but she didn’t try to stop him. Her grip on his robes fell away and the creases around her eyes deepened.

“Get some rest,” Snape said quietly as he took a final step backward and felt a cold silence fill the space between them. She’d clearly been thinking about everything that had happened since she left his house in Cokesworth and she’d clearly been putting some puzzle pieces together. This was even more dangerous than he’d expected, and he was scared at the possibility of how much she might now know. “Half a bottle of calming draught should help.”

Narcissa nodded, but she didn’t move from her place on the front stoop. She stood there in the rain, still as a statue as she watched Severus turn and make his way down the drive. He didn’t know it, but she stood there even after he’d disappeared from sight, and she didn’t move until the faint pop of his apparition was heard and the wards buzzed to signal that he was truly gone.

-x-x-

**April 18, 1998**

**Hogwarts, 7:03 pm**

Snape slowly made his way back from the Great Hall. Attending dinner had been yet another waste of his time and he’d once again eaten nothing. The redhead and her gang of annoying brats had glared at him from their table – which was good. It made him hopeful that she’d not done anything to recall the events of last week and clearly Longbottom and the others were just as unaware. He’d found a swamp in the Slytherin corridor on Wednesday as well, which showed that they were will causing trouble – but besides that the week had been quiet at Hogwarts. Which was a miracle and something that he’d desperately needed as he tried to balance his healing with his massive list of responsibilities.

After leaving Malfoy Manor on Monday he’d taken advantage of his potion induced state to apparate to the werewolf den and freely inspect the ruins. He’d spent nearly an hour wandering the ashes and conducting several tracing charms. He’d been surprised to see that the Order had left no trace. _Everything_ had been covered up except for the heavy footprint of dark magic that poisoned the area like a plague. It was clear to Snape that whoever burned this place to the ground did it with _fiendfyre_ – which meant that Nasir had done it and that Arthur and the others had not had much involvement in the fire.

There’d been nothing left.

Not an ounce of life or hint of there ever having been any. He’d not even been able to find a single bone in the ash and it was no wonder why the Dark Lord was livid beyond belief, becoming irrationally paranoid and obsessed with the idea that Nasir was out to get him. Had Snape not spoken to Phineas after his visit to the den to hear his recount on what he’d managed to hear from Granger’s purse – even Snape would not believe that the Order had been involved in the operation.

It was simply too vicious and too violent. There wasn’t a soul on their team capable of creating such a deathly blaze and frankly, he was a bit surprised that they’d allowed the man to cast that blaze – at least he had been until Phineas told him what happened during the operation.

While he didn’t have all the information because Potter and Granger never kept the purse open for very long at any given moment, it was clear that a small team had gone in to perform a rescue and destroy the research notes. Unbelievably, they’d managed to save some of the muggles using port keys, but predictably, things had gone wrong and Nasir had to pull the team out with Potter and Granger entering the den to provide support. Allegedly Nasir burnt the place to the ground while still inside it and they’d believed him to be dead and part of the ash, but Snape knew better. The timing of his ‘ _death’_ was all too convenient and he found himself both suitably impressed at Nasir’s plan and also annoyed with himself that he’d not realized it earlier.

He’d been Nasir’s backup plan. He’d guaranteed that the man could call on his new life force at any point when he ‘ _died’_ to prevent him from actually dying. It was rather brilliant really and far superior to a Horcrux because he got to keep his own body and was able to get back to being functional quite quickly. The only downside Snape could see was living with the side effects of having someone else’s soul – which he imagined were lightly similar to a magical blood transfusion. He’d not been in the least bit surprised when Phineas raced into his portrait early Thursday morning to alert him that Nasir had indeed returned to Shell Cottage in one piece.

Snape sighed as he reached the statue before the staircase to his office and muttered out the password. He’d met with the Dark Lord twice already this week – and both times he’d lied. He’d told the truth about what he’d found at the den, he’d told the Dark Lord what he thought happened and his plan for tracking down Nasir – but he could only drag that out for so long before he’d need to add more detail.

Eventually, he would need to _find_ Nasir, or he’d have to give the Dark Lord some kind of _results_ to satisfy his bloodlust and rampant rage. And ironically to do that – he needed to _find_ Nasir and speak to the man to figure out how to proceed. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was piss off the Dark Lord by not giving good enough information but he also had no intentions of pissing of Nasir by giving the Dark Lord too good of information.

It was a tough balance and one he needed to work out soon.

He opened the door to his office, closing it quickly and warding it behind him as he let out a sigh. His body was still sore from Monday, it’d been four days since and he still wasn’t back to full health. But thankfully with the Dark Lord distracted and the Order focused on their new pack of werewolves he would get a night off and could rest all day Sunday.

“Severus,” Phineas’ voice caught his attention and he turned to look up at the portrait. “They’re at the farmhouse and waiting for the moon. So far everything looks good.”

“Good,” Snape nodded as he made his way toward his desk. “Keep watch Phineas and let me know if anything goes wrong – there isn’t much we can do but I could always go ward the nearby area to keep them in if things get truly out of hand.”

“Of course,” Phineas nodded firmly. “I don’t think it will be needed based on some of what I heard Hermione say – and Potter has taught the group tethers so everyone there is capable of restraining the beasts if necessary. But I will keep you posted.”

“Thank you,” Snape said tiredly as he took a seat in the large chair behind his desk and pinched his brow.

“Severus,” Phineas’ voice was hesitant, and Snape cracked an eye and tilted his head to look at him. “Make sure you eat something before bed – you’ve been looking thinner than usual.”

“He’s right – you are thinner,” a deep voice rumbled before him and Snape jerked up in his seat. He’d drawn his wand and already had it pointed with a spell on the tip of his tongue before his brain took in the tall figure before him and he froze.

“Fuck,” Snape let out a breath as he lowered his wand and fought against the urge to clutch his chest. With the heavy weight that sat on his heart he thought the poor organ might actually give out from the stress of his surprise appearance. His eyes darted to the closed window and back to the tall man standing just feet before him. “I nearly took your head off – how the bloody hell did you get in here? The window is closed.”

Nasir’s eyes glinted but he didn’t say anything, he simply moved forward across the room and closed the distance between them.

“Do you have a few minutes?” Nasir asked in his low baritone as his eyes flicked to Phineas and he nodded at the portrait. Phineas looked slightly taken aback by the gesture, but he awkwardly returned the nod while gripping the edge of his frame tightly and looking like he didn’t want to be there. “Or were you going to eat?”

“Severus,” Dumbledore had ‘ _woken’_ from his fake sleep and his voice held it’s usual dark tone of warning.

“I have a few minutes,” Snape said quickly as he pushed himself up from the desk and turned toward the door to his quarters. He glared at Dumbledore as he walked past the portrait.

“ _Nasir_ ,” Dumbledore’s voice cut through the air like acid. “I’ve told you – you are not welcome here. Haven’t you taken enough already?!”

“On the contrary,” Nasir said with a glint in his eyes. “This school seems to have no issues with my presence – besides, I was unaware that _dead_ Headmasters had any say.”

“You look here–“ Dumbledore started but Snape turned on his heel and cut the man off.

“For the love of fucking Merlin – SHUT UP!” Snape snarled at the old man as his glare turned to one of hatred. “This has _nothing_ to do with you. Phineas – go check on Potter and Granger, I’ll be out later.”

Without giving the old portrait another second to retort Snape ripped open the door to his quarters and swiftly moved inside. Nasir followed him easily, shutting the door behind him and moving toward the glowing fireplace as Snape stiffly sat in one of the armchairs and watched the unnatural man slowly lower himself into the opposite one.

“You’re alive,” Nasir said calmly, a small twitch played on his lips as he looked Snape up and down before sitting back further in his chair. He looked the same – mostly, except that he was missing his right hand, his eyes looked less cold and there was something eerie and familiar about him.

“For the most part,” Snape said somewhat bitterly as he watched the flames flicker across the man’s face. “I could say the same about you.”

“And I would give the same response,” Nasir said quietly, his eyes still glinting.

“Why are you here?” Snape asked. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit nervous. The last time this Revenant had come to Hogwarts he’d taken part of his soul – but he’d also said that he would not ask him for anything else. So as convenient as it was that the man had shown up – he wasn’t sure why.

“There are things we need to discuss,” Nasir said evenly though he made no motion to add anything else to the statement. Snape waited for another several quiet seconds before he concluded that Nasir must intend for him to speak first. It wasn’t surprising – he’d often got the impression that the man could tell what people were thinking and he clearly knew that Snape had his own subject to address.

“The Dark Lord thinks you blew up his werewolf operation,” Snape said bluntly, his eyes locked to the man before him.

“I _did_ blow up his werewolf operation,” Nasir said indifferently.

“I know you did,” Snape let out a quiet sigh and fixed the man with a level stare. “You're the only one capable of burning something like that to the ground so thoroughly. The point is – he’s now obsessed with the idea that you’re out to eliminate his forces and take his place. He thinks you’re working alone or with some other small faction in the shadows since he doesn’t believe that you would ever team up with the Order.”

“Well he isn’t entirely wrong,” Nasir’s lip twitched, and his eyes darkened.

Snape raised a brow in question, and he felt his heart grow weak in his chest. “You have your own forces?”

“No,” Nasir gave him a dark smile. “I didn’t _team up_ with the Order. I am simply helping Hermione and Harry.”

Snape rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as the tension in his chest fell away in relief. “You find this amusing – don’t you.”

“It’s hard not to,” Nasir said quietly, still impossibly still in his chair across the small table between them. “The man was always paranoid, even from a young age.”

Snape tilted his head, folding his arms over his chest as he raised a brow in curiosity. “You knew him?”

“I knew him before he became ‘ _the Dark Lord_ ’,” Nasir said quietly. “He came to me looking for information years ago.”

“And did you give it to him?” Snape could feel his stomach churning at the thought. If Nasir had trained the Dark Lord, then this war had just become even worse than he’d initially understood it.

“No,” a dark and twisted smile cut across his lips. “But I gave him something else. You should ask him about it sometime if you ever get the chance.”

Snape stared at the man in disbelief. He was entirely unsure of where to go from here or what to say. The man before him was so characteristically Nasir and yet so entirely _different_. He was blatantly showing amusement, he was talking openly, and he was chatty like that first time he’d dropped by and yet he felt more human than before. He tried to ignore the fact that he knew it was because a piece of himself was currently residing in that man. It was strange to think of it, it was almost like he was looking at a piece of himself and it only made his skin crawl, so he decided to ignore it.

“I sincerely doubt that the opportunity for such a conversation will arise,” Snape said slowly, as he tried to ignore the subtle shifts in Nasir’s behaviour. “But none the less I'll stow that piece of information away. The point is–“

“He asked you to find me,” Nasir cut him off as his face grew instantly serious and the amusement faded from his eyes.

“Yes,” Snape said quietly.

“And you didn't tell him where I am or that we've already been in touch I gather.”

Snape scowled outwardly, his face twisting into a frown as his eyes hardened and he glared at the man across from him.

“Aside from the fact that I don’t have a fucking clue where you're staying – _no_ – I didn’t tell him that we've been _'in_ _touch'_ Nasir. I've _already_ made it abundantly clear what side of this war I'm on. I would have thought that you’d have believed me after I _gave_ you a piece of my fucking soul. Which by the way,” Snape’s voice became laced with sarcasm. “How is it? Is it comfortable? Do you find that it’s suiting you well?”

“I find that the sardonic, angry amusement gets tiresome at times,” Nasir said flatly but he shifted his shoulders, relaxed his stance and his voice became a fraction softer. “And your difficult emotions are tedious – it was just a question Severus. You don’t need to get defensive.”

“No, I didn’t tell him,” Snape said tightly, trying to ignore the way Nasir’s tone resembled that of an adult speaking to an upset child. “I've not told him anything, he’s still trying to determine where the losses put him overall in the war while developing plans for recovery and upping security in other areas. But that will only keep him busy for a short time.”

“How long do we have? Nasir asked him plainly. “Before he kills you or gets someone else to try and find me?”

Snape sighed and rubbed his forehead as he sunk deeper into his chair.

“I don’t know – as you said, he's paranoid. And it’s always hard to tell with him, but,” Snape exhaled deeply. “If I had to guess, I’d say we have two solid weeks with no issue where he won’t push too hard, a third week where I'm going to need to lie _a lot_ and in the fourth week he’s going to flip fucking biscuits and either interrogate me, execute me for failing my task or go out on his own to find you and rip the country apart in the process.”

Snape paused.

“Or all three,” Snape added dryly. “He is – _extremely_ livid and _dangerously_ volatile right now. He will undoubtedly openly lead the war straight through Britain – both muggle and wizarding alike if he doesn’t get your head on a platter within a few weeks. The loss of the den has snapped something inside him – I think this is the first time he’s felt genuinely threatened by something in decades and he’s not handling it well.”

“So not much time,” Nasir nodded as his eyes glinted calculatingly.

“No,” Snape said tightly. “Not much at all before this turns into a full-scale war. Our days of shadow work, sabotage and guerrilla tactics are numbered.”

“The Order won’t be ready,” Nasir said quietly.

“They’ll never be ready,” Snape said flatly, his eyes hardening with annoyance. “That’s precisely why I’ve been fighting to keep this all below-board while giving Potter and Granger a chance to try and end things quietly. The Order isn’t willing to do what it takes to win – honestly, I'm not sure what they will do when the fighting inevitably breaks out. I’m not even sure what their plan was for the den. If not for you burning it down, I don’t see how they could have possibly been successful in dismantling it.”

“Modified muggle explosives,” Nasir said quietly.

“ _What_?!” Snape sat forward in his chair and gripped the armrests tightly.

 _This is so typical of the Order_ , Snape’s mind raged at the new information. The group was a bunch of fucking morons and they never thought anything through. Had none of them opened a bloody book on warfare or the dark arts for that matter? If not for Nasir they’d all be fucking dead right now.

“The Dark Lord would have figured that out! He would have been able to determine that with minimal effort and a few basic god damn spells because that explosion never would have gotten hot enough to destroy the evidence! Why not just send him a fucking letter directly that says ‘ _Arthur Weasley blew up your den_ ’ – fucking hell!” Snape spat as he ran a hand through his hair. “How stupid are they? The only reason why he doesn’t suspect them now is because the ground is oozing with dark magic from the fire and–“

Snape paused as he glanced at the man before him and looked at him curiously. His impassive expression, calm demeanour and that glint in his eyes… the look of someone who had a pocket full of information and a plan all along.

“You already knew that,” Snape said slowly as suddenly he started to see the events in a new light. “You were part of the den infiltration planning – you _knew_ that a modified muggle bomb would be detectable – you _knew_ it would lead him right to the Order and you planned to blow it up yourself from the start so it would put the attention on _you_. You bloody knew this from the start.”

Nasir simply stated at him and said nothing as the warm fire cast a creepy glow across his face.

“ _Why_?” Snape asked before he could stop himself. He was leaning forward in his chair now – staring at the mysterious man in disbelief. It didn’t make any sense. “Why are you willing to put a target on your back for them, he’s become a lot stronger since you knew him.”

“I'm aware,” Nasir said indifferently. “But he’s still an arrogant boy with warped delusions on what equates to power. His time and way of life are over, he just doesn’t know it yet. Besides, I didn’t do it for the Order – I did it for _them_. To quote your words – I’ve already made it abundantly clear what _side_ of this war I’m on.”

“You did that for Granger and Potter,” Snape said in disbelief as Nasir simply stared at him. “You seriously expect me to believe that? What are they giving you out of this? Did you barter for part or their souls too – or better yet – once the Dark Lord falls then what? Do you plan to take his place?”

Nasir’s eyes instantly darkened, his body somehow became more rigid and the air grew cold and tight around them like death. Snape watched frozen with fear as Nasir unfolded himself from his chair, and slowly closed the distance between them like a predator stalking its prey. He stopped but a foot away and leaned down to look Snape directly in the eyes.

“Do not – _ever_ ,” Nasir said slowly. “Compare me to that man. What I do and why I do it is none of your business – I don’t expect you to _believe_ anything nor do I need to justify my actions to you.”

Snape swallowed. He could feel his heart racing despite his best efforts to remain calm as the man encroached on his space much like he had that day they’d met in the woods.

“Are we clear?” Nasir’s voice was deadly, and Snape found himself nodding.

“Crystal,” Snape said quietly, his back tense as he forced himself to remain where he was and not to lean away. Evidently – Nasir _didn’t_ like the Dark Lord, and he was not as passive and uncaring as Dumbledore had let on. Whether he’d always been that way and hidden it or whether his own soul living inside the man was altering his behaviour – Snape would never know. The man was and would remain – entirely unpredictable and a mystery.

“Good,” Nasir said darkly before he stood to his full height once more. The pressure in the room seemed to lessen and the disturbing darkness that had radiated from his eyes was gone with a blink. “Drag it out for as long as you can, tell him I appear to be working alone and next week tell him that you traced me back to Ireland – in the meantime, I will do what I can to have the Order ready to end this within three weeks.”

“It’s not just about the Order,” Snape said tightly, his grip on the armchair still iron as he looked at the man standing before him. He’d never mentioned anything about the Horcruxes to Nasir and if he was being honest, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to. “There are – _other_ things at play.”

“I’m aware,” Nasir said evenly as he turned and made his way toward the center of Snape’s quarters. “The timeline still stands.”

“And what if they’re not ready by then?” Snape asked as he forced himself to stand from his chair. “What do I tell the Dark Lord then?”

“If they’re not ready by then I’ll come see you,” Nasir said flatly but his eyes locked to Snape’s. “But in that case, it is likely that you will die. Which – if I recall correctly – was part of your plan anyway.”

Snape felt his jaw tighten and his eyes narrowed to a glare. “Not until I’ve finished my job and not until I know that demon will fall.”

“Well,” Nasir said quietly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I guess we have our work cut out for us then.”

Snape watched tensely as the tall tanned man continued to stare at him for a moment longer, before he shifted and spoke once more.

“How stocked are your potion reserves?” Nasir asked him.

“They’re stocked,” Snape said tightly. “Why?”

“How much do you have left of experimental batch #47?” Nasir ignored his question.

Snape’s brow quirked in surprise. “You’re familiar with it?”

“Narcissa gave it to Hermione at the Manor – but I believe, that you are much more familiar with it than I am – having been the one to create it and use it somewhat regularly.”

“I have a dozen more vials,” Snape said flatly, his eyes narrowing at the man. “ _Why_?”

“Make more,” Nasir said evenly. “Make more strength potions too – and if you’re serious about wanting to end this within the next few weeks give me the brewing instructions for anything else you’ve created that might be useful.”

“What are you going to do?” Snape scoffed, unable to contain disdain and amusement as sarcasm began to drip back into his voice. “ _Dope_ everyone in the Order to give them an edge?”

Nasir didn’t say anything, he simply stared back silently, and Snape felt his body grow stiff.

“You’re serious,” Snape said quietly as he took in the man’s expression. “You’d dose the Order with experimental potions that have known negative side effects to win this war?”

“Yes,” Nasir said evenly as he met Snape’s gaze with a merciless and serious stare. “Without hesitation.”

Snape felt a chill run down his spine. This was the first time that he’d spoken to someone that seemed to understand the seriousness of this war and what they needed to do to win. Dumbledore would never allow such methods to be used, and that was exactly why they were in this precarious situation in the first place – it was exactly why they’d been losing for so fucking long. He felt his heart flutter with both hope and a nervous warning, if Nasir was truly aiding them and if he didn’t have ulterior motives – they might actually win this. If he was willing to push the Order to aid the Potter brat and that know-it-all Granger – the Order might actually stand a chance.

He wasn’t really sure how to feel as his insides twisted uncomfortably – was this what hope felt like? Or were his instincts simply telling him that keeping Nasir involved was a bad idea? How much did he trust this man over Dumbledore?

“I’ll come back in a week,” Nasir said firmly. “Make as much as you can of anything that could be useful.”

With that Nasir turned on his heel and with a small almost inaudible pop he disapparated from sight.

 _Disapparated_ , Snape’s brain stalled. _He fucking disapparated_.

Suddenly it felt like the weight on his chest had just grown three times heavier as the additional repercussions of having given away part of his soul became glaringly obvious. Snape stared at the empty space the center of his quarters as his heart began to race in his chest.

“Fuck.”

(to be continued...)

-x-x-

I hope you enjoyed the chapter! This one is a long boi. I might be taking next weekend off – so fair warning there may not be a chapter. I will do my best to update, but I might be going on a small out of town trip so we will see what happens. I love you all <3

For regular updates on the progress or to chat come join the group: https://discord.gg/gQ gW Nx 5 (remove spaces)

Thanks for reading!

<3 Tori

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. If you have been reading this thank you, thank you - you beautiful human being!  
> 2\. Maybe it's because I am so damn tired but I just want to send out some general love into the universe and in particular to the people on this site. You're all so talented, creative and inspiring <3 It makes me really happy to see people create and write and share with everyone here.


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